Best Laid Schemes
by YankeeFan87
Summary: Sam and Dean travel to New Paltz, NY to assist on a case involving an ancient Indian burial site. Dean is sick and getting sicker and the case is way more complicated than they'd anticipated. Hurt!Sick!Dean and caring!Sam. Set during season 2.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Don't own the Winchesters or anything Supernatural-related.

Before I begin, there's one major problem right from the start, and it's the fact that I set this story in New Paltz, NY, totally forgetting that they used that in the episode Provenance. But let's just pretend that that episode took place somewhere else, because I don't want to change the location of my story. I was thinking of maybe including Sarah in this story, but I wanted it to focus mostly on the boys and didn't want her to have to be thrown in there too. Okay, now that that's out of the way…this story started out mainly as a way for me to write a short hurt/comfort thing with sick and injured Dean, and then when I started writing, I threw a case in there. So now it's going to be longer, which kind of makes me happy since I've missed writing Supernatural fanfiction. This story takes place at some point in season 2, because that will always be my favorite season. And the title is taken from the 1785 poem by Robert Burns titled "To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough." Okay, that's it I think. Hope you enjoy!

**Best-Laid Schemes**

**Summary: **Sam and Dean travel to New Paltz, NY to meet up with one of their dad's old hunting partners on a case involving an ancient Indian burial ground. Dean is sick and getting sicker, and the case turns out to be more complicated than they originally anticipated. Lots of Sick!Dean and Hurt!Dean and caring Sam...and some action too.

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><p>Dean groaned, feeling the painful ache in his joints as he shifted positions in the Impala. He hadn't wanted to relinquish the driver's seat to Sam, but after nearly nodding off three times – the last almost causing him to swerve into the path of an oncoming car – Sam had put his foot down and insisted they pull over. Dean hadn't really put up a fight. The near-accident had left him shaken and he'd rather injure his own pride than risk injuring his brother or his baby.<p>

He shifted again, swallowing painfully against the dryness in his throat. "Hey," Dean looked over to see his brother studying him closely. "How you feeling?"

Dean didn't answer, needing a moment to take stock of himself. He felt like shit, but that wasn't an entirely new feeling. He'd been feeling crappy for nearly a week, starting with a persistent, annoying headache. Now it seemed like he could never get warm and he always felt tired. "I'm okay," he croaked out, palming a hand across his face, surprised to feel the sweat there. He coughed pathetically, reaching into the backseat for a water bottle. Dean took a careful sip, then pressed his head back against the seat.

Sam made a sound of disapproval but left it at that. "You hungry at all? I need to stretch my legs and I'm starving."

Dean kept his eyes closed but nodded his head slightly. "Sure," he agreed. He wasn't all that hungry, but maybe getting out of the car would clear his head, wake him up a little.

Sam pulled off the road into a crowded diner about 10 minutes later, shutting off the engine and turning to his brother who was once again snoring softly, face pressed up against the window, his breaths fogging the glass. "Dean," Sam tried quietly. When his brother didn't respond, he placed a hand on his shoulder and shook it gently. _That_ woke him up and Sam quickly backed off as Dean reacted with his fists swinging. Sam dodged the first attempt and grabbed his brother's hands on the second. "Hey, hey calm down, Dean. It's just me."

Dean looked confusedly at his brother then rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Sorry, man. Don't wake me up like that."

Sam nodded. "I haven't forgotten from the last time you hit me. If you're too tired, we can go find a motel and crash. I can get food later."

Dean shook his head, pushing himself up. "You crazy? It's only 2 in the afternoon – we still have a ways until we even hit New York. Besides, I've slept enough. Let's eat." Dean opened the door and stepped out, not expecting the world to tilt on its axis the second he was vertical. He grabbed onto the roof of the car to steady himself. If Sam noticed, he didn't say anything, and Dean followed him into the diner.

Sam was holding the door as Dean lumbered up the steps to the diner. The loud sounds and greasy smells hit Dean like a sack of bricks, almost like a physical blow that ratcheted up the headache to the next level and made him swallow hard against a wave a nausea that wasn't there five minutes ago. Somehow managing to suck it up, Dean stepped forward, giving the hostess a wide smile.

"Two?" she asked, smiling back, clearly interested in the handsome strangers.

Dean nodded. "Thanks Sweetheart." She grabbed two menus, leading them to a booth right in the middle of the diner.

"Enjoy, guys." She winked at Dean before turning and walking back to the entrance.

"Still got it," Dean smirked, looking over at Sam who shot him an incredulous look. "Admit it, you're impressed."

"I'm impressed she even gave you the time of day. You look like hell."

"Not possible."

"Seriously, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing, Sam," Dean mumbled, looking down at his menu.

"I can tell you're sick – why don't you just tell me what's wrong?"

Dean glared back at him. "I told you I'm fine. Just a cold or something. Can you please drop it now?"

Sam decided to shut up, satisfied that at least Dean had admitted _something_ was wrong, even if he just thought it was a cold. Sam was pretty sure it was more serious that that, but he figured that could wait until later. "So what's this case again? Only thing you've told me is that it's up near Poughkeepsie."

Dean lifted his head at that, thankful that Sam was changing the topic. He knew this was more than just a cold, but it wasn't anything he couldn't deal with yet. "Yeah, uh, one of dad's old hunting buddies called before. Mark Ruttledge. He's a good guy – I hunted with him once on a case in Syracuse. Anyway, it's not exactly Poughkeepsie, but a place near there called New Paltz. It's a college town and it gets a lot of tourists this time of year. Apparently there have been some weird occurrences at the school library over the last month."

"Can I get you something to drink?" Dean and Sam looked up to see an older woman holding out a notepad, waiting for the boys to answer. Jean – as her nametag read – was at least 50 years old, and Sam smirked at the disappointment on Dean's face. _No hot waitresses this time, bro. _

"Coffee," they said simultaneously. "Can I also have orange juice?" Dean asked as an afterthought, wincing as he swallowed.

"Sure, Honey. It's fresh-squeezed. Best in the state."

"Can I have a glass too?"

The waitress looked at Sam and smiled approvingly. "Two coffees and two OJ's. I'll be right back with that."

"She's cute," Sam mocked.

"Shaddup," Dean growled, looking down at the menu. He was starting to feel hungry, his stomach reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything substantial in quite awhile. Thankfully the nausea seemed to have faded along with the pounding headache.

Jean was back almost immediately, balancing the drinks like a pro. "Here you go," she said as she placed them down in front of the boys. "Have you decided what to order?"

Sam looked up, embarrassed. His menu was still closed and he hadn't even looked at it yet. "What do you recommend?"

"Well I just _love_ the omelettes here. Personally, I recommend the Alpine. It has Swiss cheese, onions, mushrooms, and bacon. But the other omelettes are also delicious."

"That sounds amazing. I'll take the Alpine, with extra bacon."

"And how about you, Sweetie?"

"Blueberry pancakes with a side of hash browns," Dean said automatically, deciding to forgo anything too greasy. He was actually feeling okay right now and didn't want to upset his stomach with grease-soaked bacon.

"Fantastic. I'll be back in a jiffy." She took their menus and hurried off to the kitchen.

Dean chuckled, his eyes following Jean as she left. "I like her. She says jiffy."

When Dean didn't turn his head back after a minute, Sam kicked him under the table. "Alright, Romeo, let's get back to the case,"

"Right." Dean coughed lightly, taking a gulp of orange juice and moaning as the cool sweetness coated his throat. "Dear God. That is delicious."

"Dean."

"Okay, okay don't get your panties in a twist. Where was I anyway?"

"You said that strange things started happening at the school library. What sort of things?"

Dean nodded. "Oh yeah. Well technically it's a library and a museum, and from what I've heard it sounds like a poltergeist. Or an angry spirit of some sort. People have reported seeing objects moving on their own – books and artifacts flying across the room. That sort of stuff. And apparently the library staff reported several instances of vandalism. They would come in in the morning to see tables and chairs overturned and display cases disturbed."

"Has anyone been hurt?"

Dean nodded, taking another sip of orange juice before continuing. "Couple people were hit with flying objects, and an elderly man fell down the stairs and broke his hip, though he claimed that he was pushed. And then last Tuesday three students were injured and another one killed when part of the ceiling collapsed on them."

"Jeez."

"Yeah, I know. Mark's been casing the place since Wednesday, but he thinks he may need backup so he called me. And since we were in the area…" Dean trailed off, leaving that as explanation enough, though he did notice Sam's approval.

"Did Mark say what he thought was causing everything?"

"He has his theories. They recently began construction on an additional wing to the library. Construction started off without a hitch until – get this – they dug up an old Indian graveyard."

"I'm guessing they didn't stop construction for that?"

"Yahtzee. They _moved_ the bodies. Apparently they're going to make an exhibit for them."

"Well shit."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Big mistake. So I'm guessing we've got a ton of angry spirits to deal with."

"Sounds like. But how the hell do you remedy that? Are we really going to burn every body they found? Won't that be kind of difficult? I'm sure they're just not out in the open, easily accessible to the public."

"Too many questions, Bro. We don't even know if that's the problem. Maybe the digging disrupted some sort of holy ground. Maybe we're dealing with an old Native American curse. We just need to get there and see for ourselves. Where are we, anyway? How far to New Paltz?"

"We're in Manalapan, New Jersey. Still another two, two and a half hours until we get to New Paltz. Did you tell Mark we were on our way?"

"Yeah, he knows. He's staying in some bed and breakfast right in town."

"A bed and breakfast? Seriously?"

Dean smirked. "According to him, all the other rooms were booked up. Anyway, he got us a room there, too."

Sam shook his head, amused. He looked up to see Jean bustling her way back to the table, two steaming plates balanced on her arms.

"Alpine omelette for you," she said, placing the plate down in front of Sam, "and blueberry pancakes with hash browns for you." She pulled a bottle of ketchup out of her apron and placed it on the table. "Do you need anything else?"

Sam shook his head around a mouthful of eggs. "M good."

Dean kicked Sam's shin under the table, looking up at Jean and smiling apologetically. "Sorry my brother here is so rude," Dean said sweetly. "I think we're good now, though. Thanks, Sweetheart."

Jean smiled at Dean. "Aren't you sweet? Enjoy, boys, let me know if I can get you anything."

Sam kicked Dean hard under the table. "Kiss ass."

"Maybe if you weren't so busy inhaling your food."

"I'm starving. And this is delicious. You wanna try?"

Dean squinted at the food, not in the least bit enticed. "I think I'll pass."

"Your loss," Sam mumbled around another mouthful. Dean shook his head and began to butter his pancakes, which actually looked delicious.

Sam finished his omelette in record time, and Dean looked up from his pancakes to see Sam staring at his untouched hash browns. He had no intention of eating them, already feeling the pancakes settle heavily in his stomach, so he pushed the hash browns towards Sam. "Go ahead," he prompted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Nah, nah that's okay. You eat them, I'm good."

"Sam, if you don't eat them, they're just going to be wasted. I'm not that hungry."

Sam was going to insist Dean eat them, but knew that would only put his brother in a pissy mood. And he _was_ still hungry. He pushed the hash browns onto his own plate, relishing the salty taste. "These are _good_, Dean. Are you sure you don't want to try them?"

Dean swallowed one more bite of his pancakes before pushing them away. "No thanks, Sammy. I'm full anyway. You finish up, I'm gonna hit the head." Dean stood slowly, making sure he had his balance before making his way to the end of the diner where the restrooms were located. Sam watched his brother until he was out of sight, well aware that he was worse off than he was letting on. Whatever was wrong, Sam knew Dean wouldn't be able to keep up this façade for much longer, especially if he continued to get worse.

The diner had a private bathroom, which Dean found oddly impractical for a place that clearly got a lot of business. Still, he was thankful for the privacy. Dean locked the door and pressed his back against it, sagging slightly from exhaustion. After a few minutes, he went to the sink, running the cold water and splashing it on his face, letting it drip down his neck.

Dean looked into the mirror, surprised at how awful he looked. His skin was stark white, save for the blotchy spots of fever that dotted his cheeks. His eyes seemed sunken-in, ringed by dark circles. Given how bad Dean looked, it was a miracle Sam hadn't driven him straight to the nearest hospital.

Dean cupped the running water, dipping his head down and taking a few greedy sips. The orange juice had soothed some of the soreness in his throat and the cold water felt so refreshing. He took care of his business, washing his hands and studying himself once more in the mirror, slapping his face a few times to get some color back into it. Deciding he looked slightly better than death-warmed-over, he headed out the door, back to his brother.

Sam didn't look up when Dean came back, his attention instead focused on finishing the last few bites of pancake that Dean had left behind.

"Jeez, Sam. You'd think I don't feed you enough."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, sorry man. I was really starving."

Dean smiled, sliding into the booth and taking a sip from his coffee, spitting it back almost immediately. "Ugh this is gross!"

Sam pointed to his own empty coffee cup. "Yeah, when you don't touch it until it's cold."

"Whatever. Did you get the bill?"

Sam held up a slip of paper. "Jean brought it while you were in the bathroom – along with some extra orange juice to-go, since you seemed to love it so much." Sam said, sliding the cup of orange juice towards Dean, neglecting to mention that Jean had expressed her own concern over his brother's obvious illness.

Dean smiled widely, taking a large gulp of the OJ. He pulled out a wad of cash and counted out the money for the check, making sure to leave a large tip for Jean. "You ready to go? I told Mark we'd be in New Paltz before dark."

Sam climbed out of the booth, stretching. "You want me to keep driving?" he asked, holding up the keys to the Impala. "You still look beat."

Dean shook his head, taking the keys from Sam. "Still look better than you."

"You keep telling yourself that, Dean. Whatever helps you sleep at night," Sam called out, following Dean to the car.

"Ha-ha," Dean turned back to see Sam grinning at him. "You're a riot. Just get in the car, would you?" He climbed into the driver's seat, clearing his throat and coughing a little, trying in vain to soothe some of the irritation there.

"You okay?" Dean looked over to see that Sam had climbed into the passenger seat with out him even knowing and was now looking at him with that annoyingly sympathetic concern.

"Yeah," he squeaked, clearing his throat and trying again. "Yeah I'm fine. And if you don't stop asking me that, you'll be hitching a ride to New Paltz."

"Sheesh, Dean. I'm just worried about you."

Dean didn't answer, starting the car and turning up the radio as Led Zeppelin's Kashmir started playing. Breakfast had helped – he didn't feel nearly as exhausted as he had before, even if the lingering dizziness was still there. Sam's constant worrying was annoying him, though if he was being honest, he could already tell that he was getting sicker. But this was just a simple hunt, not to mention they had the added help from Mark. Sick or not, Dean could work this case in his sleep. Piece of cake.

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><p><em>Kinda didn't like how this chapter flowed or, I guess, didn't flow. But I just want to get it published so I can write the more exciting chapters. Thoughts? Thank you for reading, I'd love to hear what you think!<em>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you SO much for the reviews. It's so great hearing from all of you again! This chapter is mostly Sam – I had intended to make it longer, but I'm realizing now that it's already sufficiently long and if I start the next section that I had intended to write, I'd be up all night. So I had to stop here. I hope you're still enjoying. Tons more sick Dean next chapter, if you want. Let me know!**

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><p>By the time they reached the outskirts of New Paltz, Dean's cough had settled deep in his lungs, creating an unsettling rattle whenever he took too deep a breath. Sam wasn't the only one surprised by the rapid progression. Dean had hoped he could put off the need for meds of any sort until the hunt was finished. At this rate, he'd be in the hospital on oxygen by morning.<p>

Sam didn't even bother annoying Dean with his questions on his well-being anymore. Dean knew his body, and it was obvious at this point that he was sufficiently aware of the seriousness of his latest illness. He'd had pneumonia before, and it never ended well. Each time had laid him out for more than a week; the last time – shortly after Sam had left for college – had landed him in the hospital on a ventilator. Dean just hoped he could catch a break this time around; that this cold/flu/virus didn't progress to hospital-bad. But then again, when did he or Sam _ever_ catch a break?

"Shit. Did you see the last sign, Sam? I think I missed the fucking turn-off."

Sam looked behind him, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sign on the south-bound side. "NY-299?"

"Dammit!" Dean huffed, pounding his fist against the wheel.

"So just make a U-turn, Dean. What the hell is the big deal?"

Dean shot a glare at Sam. He was tired of driving, felt like shit, and just wanted to get off the damn road. Of course, he would never admit that to Sam, so any sort of retaliation against him was just plain dick-ish. "Yeah, you're right," he said calmly, realizing that he had taken his frustration out on his brother. And his car.

"Sorry, baby," he mumbled, rubbing the wheel gingerly.

"You apologize to the car, but not to me?"

"I didn't hit you, Sam. Though you couldn't blame me if I did. You're a pain in the ass ," he glanced over at Sam and smiled – an unspoken apology.

Dean took the next exit, looping around and getting onto the correct road. New Paltz was just a mile or two farther, and Dean sighed gratefully when he spotted the sign for Mountain Meadows Bed and Breakfast. The parking lot was small and crowded, but Dean found a space and pulled in, turning the engine off and letting his head fall back against the seat, closing his eyes.

"I'll go check in. You said Mark reserved us a room?" Sam asked when Dean made no move to open his door.

Dean opened one eye, looking at his brother. "Uhh, yeah he did." He pulled out his wallet, taking out the latest credit card. "Here," he handed the card to Sam. "Thanks."

Sam examined the card. "Paul Stanley? Really?"

Dean grinned. "Maybe they're not KISS fans."

"You suck," Sam huffed, opening the door and unfolding his long legs from the car.

"At least it wasn't Gene Simmons!" Dean shouted after him.

Dean chuckled again, resting his head back against the seat, happy that he could finally rest. He sat up straighter when he felt a cough coming on, pressing one hand hard against his chest and the other to his mouth, sputtering out a few ragged coughs, tasting the phlegm in the back of his throat. "Gross," he murmured, wiping his hand against his jeans. The headache from before had returned and he just wanted to lie down and sleep until it was gone.

Dean flinched when Sam rapped hard on the window, jerking upright and opening his eyes.

"Room 6," Sam told him once Dean had cranked down the window. Sam already had his bags with him and he went ahead to check out the room that they were staying in. Dean sluggishly pulled himself out of the car, pausing to take a few wheezing breaths before continuing. Sam had left the door to room 6 open and he walked in, placing his bags down on the closest bed.

"Not too bad," he croaked out.

Sam had been rummaging through his bags, but he looked up when Dean spoke. "Kinda cozy," Sam admitted. "Definitely not bad. And the view is amazing"

Dean slumped on his bed, tugging off his boots and jacket. He rolled over onto his stomach, wrapping a pillow around his head.

"Hey," Sam nudged Dean's bed with his leg. "Don't you want to let Mark know that we're here?"

"Later," Dean mumbled into the pillow.

"Why don't we just do it now, get it over with? Then we can crash for a few hours."

Dean rolled over, looking up at his brother with bleary eyes. "You've been asking me how I feel all freaking day, Sam. You wanna know? My head is _killing _me, my chest hurts, and my throat feels like I've swallowed razor blades. Mark is – he's too much for me to deal with right now. I just want to sleep. A few hours won't make a difference." Dean rolled back onto his stomach, turning his back to Sam. Conversation closed.

"Yeah okay, sorry man," Sam said, shocked by his brother's admission. "Get some rest. I think I'm going to explore the town a little. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Kay," Dean mumbled again, already dozing off. Sam took one last look at his brother before snagging the keys from the side table and heading out the door.

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><p>Sam found himself enjoying New Paltz a lot more than he'd expected to. It had only been a little over a year since he'd left Stanford, and he missed the college atmosphere, missed being around other students his age, bright with ambition and everything in the world to look forward to. It didn't take long before Sam ended up in the library. After all, that was where he'd spent most of his time at Stanford. Figuring it wouldn't hurt to do a little preliminary research, Sam decided to go in and investigate, looking around for anyone that would be able to provide him with pertinent information.<p>

He found exactly who he was looking for in less than thirty seconds. A pretty student was sitting behind the circulation desk, though she seemed more interested in the tall, handsome stranger who had just walked in than she did in the books.

"Hi," Sam said, walking up to her and smiling, feigning shyness. "Emily," he read off her name tag. "My name is Sam."

"Hi Sam," she answered flirtatiously, clearly _not_ the shy type. "How can I help you?"

"Actually, I was hoping maybe you could help me find some information. I'm just visiting a friend who's a student here at the university, but he's too busy studying for some big exam he has coming up, so he's been no help whatsoever."

Emily smiled widely, clearly anxious to help Sam out. "Are you in college somewhere?"

Sam nodded. "Stanford. I'm finishing up my thesis on Native American lore and culture, and I know New Paltz has a rich history."

"Stanford," Emily said, clearly impressed. "Well, Sam, you definitely came to the right place, though if I were you, I'd be a little careful about what you dig up." She whispered the last part, leaning closer to Sam, as if that information was some kind of secret that would get her in trouble.

Sam smiled, whispering back. "Why's that?"

Emily looked around, making sure no one was listening to them. "There's been some bad luck around here lately. More than bad luck. Some people think it's a curse."

_Well, that was easy_, Sam thought. Emily was giving him all the information he wanted, and he'd hardly even had to ask. "Cursed?" he repeated, adding a bit of inflection to his voice, letting her know that he was extremely interested in what she had to say. "What kind of a curse?"

"Native American," she told him, as if that was obvious. "I'm sure you must know about those kinds of things, right?"

"What…what do you mean?" Sam asked nervously, momentarily forgetting the cover story he'd fed Emily.

"You know, because of your thesis?" Emily eyed him skeptically.

"Oh right! Of course. Yeah, I've had some experience with that kind of thing before." _Understatement of the year._ "But I hadn't heard about anything happening here. I'd love for you to fill me in," Sam finished, smiling.

Any skepticism Emily had quickly vanished after that, and she repeated pretty much everything Dean had already told him, with a few unnecessary details, undoubtedly added to pique Sam's interest.

"So what'd they do with the bones?" Sam asked, genuinely curious.

Emily glanced around the library again, and Sam wasn't sure if it was just for show this time. Maybe it really was a secret. "I really shouldn't be telling you," she started, glancing around again. "I'm not even supposed to know."

Sam wasn't often jealous of Dean's ability to pick up any woman he wanted, but it was times like this when that skill really came in handy. Still, Sam hadn't been doing too badly here himself. He just needed to keep it up a little while longer.

"Come on, Emily," Sam pleaded, his voice low and smooth, "you can trust me." She hesitated for a second, and Sam continued. "Please," he wheedled, "it would be just the thing I need to put my thesis over the top. If I get published, I'll be sure to thank you in my acknowledgements." Sam winced, knowing that last part was overkill. But it seemed to be the selling point for Emily.

"You promise?"

"Scout's honor," Sam assured her, holding up three fingers in the boy scout hand signal.

"No one else can know about this, though. Not even your friend. If anyone finds out, I could lose my job." Emily waited for Sam to nod, then continued, her voice barely audible. Sam had to lean in even closer to hear her. "They're in the library."

"_Here_? But…"

"I _know_," she insisted, at Sam's look of obvious surprise. "I wouldn't have believed it either. I mean, why hide the bodies here? Super creepy if you ask me."

"Did someone tell you about this?"

Emily shook her head, looking mischievous. "I've seen them."

"How?"

"Sometimes I stay in the library after closing. Sometimes it's with a guy," she paused, smiling at Sam, "but usually it's to study. I know it's kind of creepy here all alone at night, but it's _quiet_. It's the only place I can really think, you know?"

Sam nodded. He'd been the same way back when he was in school, even sleeping in the library on occasion. "So you stay here after closing? Isn't that against school policy?"

"It is, but I've never been caught. I usually hide out in the women's room until the security guard locks up. It's actually really easy, though I haven't taken any chances since the discovery of the burial ground."

"Why not?"

"For one it's creepy as hell. I don't want to be alone here after all those weird things have happened. But they've also beefed up security. Now instead of the 70-year-old security office who can't see three feet in front of him, they have at least three younger cops patrolling the place. And it's every night too."

_Dammit_, Sam thought, dismayed_. _He'd hoped they wouldn't have a problem getting in at night. "You said the bodies from the burial ground are in this building. Where could they possibly have hid them? I'm sure there are students here all the time."

"You're right, there are. And if someone had told me that the bones were here, I never would have believed them. Hell, I thought I knew every inch of this place. The last time I stayed over night here was a little over a month ago, three days after they dug up the bones. Anyway, I heard several male voices, long after the library had supposedly closed. I hid behind this desk, but I did see a group of men carrying the artifacts and the bones down the stairs to the basement."

"Did you recognize the men?"

She hesitated slightly. "I think a few of them were from the construction site. But the Dean of the college was there – Dean Holgrum – and so was the head of the Anthropology department, Bill Watkins."

"So everything that they dug up – it's all in the basement?"

Emily nodded. "But you would never find it unless you knew where to look. There's a hidden passageway. And I mean _really_ hidden."

"Do you have a floor plan or something? Can you show me on that?"

"You can't go down there! You'll get caught, and then _my_ ass will be on the line."

"No, no, of course. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble. And I don't plan on going down there. I'm just interested." Sam hoped she bought that.

Emily eyed him warily for a moment before rummaging around, coming out with a map of the library. "Here," she said, holding it out for Sam to see. "You go down the steps and hang a left. It's behind a wall located at the end of that hallway."

"How could no one know about it?"

Emily shrugged. "Who would think to look for it?"

Sam nodded. _Good point_. "Can I take this?" he asked, motioning to the map.

"Yeah, I've got tons of copies."

"Thanks. I should probably get going now, but thank you so much for your help, Emily."

Emily looked crestfallen. "You're leaving?"

Sam hesitated. "I'm already so far behind in this thesis. And I need to get everything you've told me down on paper before I forget it." Emily nodded, though Sam could tell she was disappointed. "Do you work here often?"

"Every day, from 2 pm 'til 9. Will you be coming back?"

"You kidding me? You're the best source of information I've had in quite awhile. Maybe you could show me some books on the Native American history next time?"

Emily nodded with renewed enthusiasm. "I know all the best books."

"Great! I'll see you soon then," Sam said good bye, then turned and walked out of the library. He checked his watch quickly, realizing he'd already been gone for two hours. But no word from Dean yet. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

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><p><em>Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you think Have a wonderful day.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N First the Jersey Devil, now this…I swear I do more research for these stories than I ever did for school. I'm totally coming up with the case while I'm in the process of writing it, so if things seem to not make total sense, that could be the reason. Oh and all the stuff about the Huguenots and Egyptian magic…_totally_ made that up. And the supernatural being/curse/case that I finally settled on (you'll see soon enough), may seem totally implausible and ridiculous and for that I apologize. I took a little bit from legends I've heard, a good deal from online research, and then (my favorite parts) from an Are You Afraid of the Dark episode that terrified me when I was a kid. If you know what I'm talking about, you're awesome. Sorry for the delay in my posting of chapter 3, but I've had a busy last 2 weeks. I was actually writing this story while I should have been studying (and should _still_ be studying), but then my priorities never seem to be in order. So I REALLY hope you enjoy this chapter, because I've put a ton of work into it. Please let me know what you think**

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><p>Sam stopped at the local drugstore after leaving the library, remembering that there weren't many supplies left in the first aid kit. And if Dean continued to get worse, Sam knew he would eventually give in and take the meds. Dean may be stubborn, but he wasn't an idiot and there was no point in suffering if there was something they could do about it. And if it became too much for either of them to handle, Sam would drag his brother to the hospital, come hell or high water.<p>

He went up and down the aisles, pulling medications for every conceivable illness. Sam wasn't usually such a spendthrift, but he had no idea what was actually wrong with Dean and he wanted to be sure to cover all his bases. Plus, their latest credit card had a relatively high limit, so Sam figured he might as well stock up now.

"You opening your own clinic?" the cashier, Amy, asked when Sam had dumped his two large armfuls of supplies on the counter.

Sam's lips quirked up in amusement. "Something like that. Sick, stubborn brother."

"Ahhh, yes. I know the type." She rang up the medications and packed them into plastic bags before turning back to Sam. "That will be $89.48." Sam nodded, handing her the credit card. "Okay, if you could just sign here, Paul…_Stanley_? Really?" she asked him skeptically.

"My parents were huge KISS fans," Sam said nervously. _Dammit, Dean_. But Amy didn't seem suspicious, just amused, and Sam thanked her before taking his bags and hurrying back to the car.

It was nearing 6:00 and the sun still shone brightly in the sky, casting an orangey glow on the streets. The early May air was still a little chilly, but the crisp mountain scent was so refreshing that Sam wished he could spend a little more time exploring the town. Maybe another time, when Dean wasn't so sick and they didn't have to deal with the angry ghosts of a disturbed Indian burial ground. Like that would ever happen. Taking one last look at the town and the mountains in the distance, Sam climbed into the Impala and pulled onto the main street.

He pulled into Mountain Meadows three minutes later, finding a spot right in front of their room. The lights were off, suggesting that Dean was still asleep. Sam was happy that Dean had finally given in to his body's need for rest, but he worried about the severity of his brother's illness. Sam was able to read Dean pretty well, and from his calculations, his brother had been sick for more than a week. Of course, he'd been denying it every day until now. And they still had this damn hunt to deal with. Maybe he and Mark could finish it while Dean rested, though that might require the use of a tranquilizer gun. Though Sam had compiled such an extensive supply of medications, he could probably find something in there that would do the trick…

Sam pulled out the room key and quietly opened the door to the room, not wanting to disturb his brother. Sure enough, Dean was right where he'd left him, though at some point he had pulled off his shirt and changed into sweat pants and was now flat on his back instead of on his stomach. Sam put the bags from the drug store on his own bed, then moved closer to Dean's to see if he could assess his brother without waking him.

The first thing Sam noticed about his brother was the pallor of his skin. It was stark white, almost as pale as the white sheets he lay on. Dean wasn't particularly dark-skinned, but this level of paleness looked unnatural and Sam knew it was just one more symptom to add to the ever-growing list. Sam also noticed that his brother's body was shaking slightly; he was shivering even though beads of sweat were collecting on his forehead, suggesting fever. And sure enough, Sam could feel the heat pouring off Dean before he'd even placed a hand on his forehead.

Dean stirred suddenly, and Sam jumped back, not wanting to receive an inadvertent fist to the face. His anxiety was short-lived, however, as Dean seemed to settle back down, undisturbed by his brother's presence. Though Sam was momentarily relieved not to have to deal with a sick, cranky brother, the fact that he _didn't_wake up only added to his concern.

The familiar rock ring tone from Dean's cell caused Sam to jump back once more in surprise, then he fumbled quickly to grab the phone off the side table where Dean had left it. Seeing Mark's name on the caller ID, Sam quickly picked up, walking to the bathroom so he could talk without disturbing Dean, though he seriously doubted anything could wake his brother up at this point.

"Hello?" Sam asked, keeping his voice low.

"Dean! Where the hell have you been? I've left you a dozen messages! I saw the Impala in the parking lot – what's going on?"

"Uh sorry – Mark? This is Dean's brother, Sam." There was no answer from the other line, and Sam had to check his phone to make sure Mark was still there.

"Sam! Of course, Dean told me all about you. Sorry I didn't mean to explode on you, I was just concerned – Dean said he'd call when you guys got here and when I saw his car outside, I thought I'd be hearing from him. But he hasn't answered any of my calls – is everything okay?"

Sam nodded before realizing Mark couldn't see him. "Yeah, yeah everything's okay. Dean's just feeling a little under the weather. He's been asleep since we got here and I was out at the library checking some things out."

"How sick is he?"

Sam heard the concern in Mark's voice, and he instantly liked the man. "He seems pretty rundown, but we've been working nonstop for the last few weeks, so that might be compounding whatever illness he has. But if you've worked with him before, you know he'll refuse to rest."

"Yeah, I know," Mark admitted, and Sam could tell from the sound of his voice that he truly _did_know. Maybe Mark knew Dean better than his brother had let on.

"Did you want to meet up with us? Dean told me a little bit about the hunt, but I'm sure you have a lot more to fill us in on."

"I do, but it can wait until morning. If Dean's sick, you should let him sleep."

Sam looked out the bathroom door to see his brother shifting restlessly in his sleep. "Actually, I don't think he'll sleep much longer as it is, and he'd be pissed at me for not waking him up. Plus, I stopped at the drugstore in town and I want to see if I can't make him take some of the meds I picked up. Where are you now?"

"Right in town. I was just going to pick up some dinner. Are you hungry?"

Sam's stomach growled in response, and he realized he hadn't eaten anything since they'd stopped for breakfast in New Jersey. "Starving."

"Okay, well how about I pick up a pizza and bring it over. What room are you guys staying in?"

"Six, and thanks, that sounds great. Just give me about fifteen minutes or so. I'm going to try and wake Dean up, and I'm sure he'll want to make himself look at least half-way presentable for you."

Mark chuckled softly. "I've seen that kid at his worst. But yeah, I know what you mean. Just make sure he isn't cranky when I get there."

Sam smirked. "I'll try my best, but no promises."

"Oh boy," Mark groaned. "Okay then, I'll see you soon, Sam."

"Yeah," Sam told him, hanging up the phone. Dean was still shifting around restlessly, groaning. "Hey," Sam said softly, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder and trying to still his movements. Dean was furnace-hot to the touch, but he opened his eyes slowly when he felt Sam's hand.

"Sam?" Dean croaked out. His voice sounded rough and it was obviously painful for him to speak. Sam grabbed a bottle of water out of Dean's duffel bag while Dean struggled to sit up. He greedily drank from the bottle once Sam had handed it to him.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

Dean gave the water back to Sam, his hands too shaky to hold it any longer without spilling it. "Okay," Dean said, confused. "Why am I wet?"

"Because you're sweating bullets, man. You're burning up."

"m' fucking freezing," Dean responded, pulling the blankets up higher around himself. His eyes started to drift closed again, and Sam shook him gently.

"Are you still tired, Dean? You slept the entire afternoon," though Sam tried, he couldn't keep the worry from creeping back into his voice.

Dean opened his eyes quickly, looking outside at the growing darkness. "Shit! Sam what time is it?" Without waiting for an answer, Dean began to kick the blankets off his legs, hurrying to get out of bed. "Where the hell is my phone?" he mumbled to himself. "Mark is going to _kill_me." He took one step away from the bed before he was falling back again, Sam's hands grabbing him before he could fall.

"Whoa, man. _Stop_. Your phone is right here," he said, holding it out to his brother. "And I already spoke with Mark. He's not pissed at you."

"You talked to him?"

"Yeah, bout five minutes ago."

"What'd he say? What'd you tell him?"

Sam knew what Dean was asking. He wanted to know if Sam had told Mark that he was sick. Not that it mattered much – any idiot could see Dean wasn't feeling well. "I told him you must have left your phone at the bed and breakfast," Sam lied. But it seemed harmless enough and he didn't want Dean going off on him. After all, he _had _promised Mark that he would try not to make Dean angry. "He's coming over in a few minutes to talk about the case."

"What's a few minutes?" Dean asked, already attempting to stand up again. This time he was more successful, and he crouched by his duffel bag, pulling out some clothes to change into.

Sam looked at his watch. "Ten or fifteen minutes He's bringing over a pizza, so you still have some time if you want to make yourself look a little less like death."

Dean flipped Sam the finger, then headed to the bathroom with a pile of clothes to shower and change.

He emerged five minutes later looking significantly better, though the fever flush still reddened his cheeks, and Sam thought he could hear a faint wheezing in his brother's breaths. "Hey, I got some meds from the drugstore earlier. Do you want anything? You should probably take something for that fever."

Dean shook his head. "Maybe later."

"Why not now?"

Dean glared at Sam, undoubtedly about to answer with something unpleasant, but the sound of someone knocking on the door saved Sam from his brother's tirade. Dean looked through the peephole before opening the door and greeting Mark with enthusiasm that Sam hadn't seen in quite awhile. Mark pulled Dean into a tight hug after placing the pizza he brought down on the table, obviously very happy to see him.

"Long time no see," Dean told him, once they'd separated.

"Way too long," Mark agreed. Mark looked like an older version of John. His hair was graying slightly and he had the same solid build and scruffy five-o'clock shadow that was so characteristic of their father. But Sam could tell, just from the way he hugged Dean and the obvious concern on his face, Mark Ruttledge was very different from John Winchester. No wonder Dean liked him.

"And you must be Sam," he said, turning to Sam. Sam nodded, extending his hand to Mark, but Mark surprised him and pulled him into a tight hug. "It's great to finally meet you, Sam. I've heard so much about you – from your dad and Dean."

Sam smiled, feeling both surprised and happy to hear that. "Really?"

Mark nodded. "Yep, Dean here went on and on about how smart his little brother was."

"Oh really?" Sam asked, turning to Dean.

Dean punched his brother lightly on the arm. "Don't get too flattered. Mark always exaggerates."

"It's true," Mark admitted, though he shook his head at Sam to indicate he was lying. "But apparently Sam wasn't exaggerating. You look like shit, Dean." Dean glared at Sam, obviously annoyed that his brother had tattled on him, but Sam just shrugged in return.

"Not possible," Dean said, shaking his head, regretting it almost immediately as the room seemed to spin around him. He sat down on the bed, hoping Mark and Sam didn't notice the dizzy spell.

"You dizzy?" Sam asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Of _course_Sam had noticed.

"Get off me," Dean growled, pushing away his brother's hand. "I told you I'm fine. Just a little cold." Dean proceeded to undermine that statement by breaking into a painful coughing fit that left him winded and even more tired than he'd been before he'd gone to sleep.

"Here, take this." Dean looked up, expecting to see Sam hovering over him with water and some meds, but instead it was Mark, looking just as concerned as he had the last time they'd hunted together. Dean didn't argue or question the pills that Mark held out for him, dry-swallowing them before chasing them with some water. He heard a quiet huff of disbelief from Sam and purposely avoided looking in his direction. "Good. Why don't you try and get some more sleep, kid? You really do look terrible."

Dean shook his head, feeling his eyes stinging with tears. _What the fuck?_ He quickly ran his hand down his face, wiping away the tears as surreptitiously as possible. Dean took a deep breath before continuing. "I know I look terrible, Mark. Sam's been telling me that for days. But I can do this hunt. I want to."

Mark studied him for a moment before nodding hesitantly. "Okay, but no heroics, you got it? The second you feel like this sickness could be something serious, you let me and Sam know. I don't want it to get out of control like last time, Dean. I've never seen your dad so worried…"

"Okay, I got it, Mark!" Dean spoke up, cutting him off and risking a quick glance at his brother. Sure enough, Sam was hanging on to every one of Mark's words, clearly very interested in what he had been saying. Though it probably took a monumental effort on his part, Sam kept his mouth shut. But Dean knew he'd be hearing about this later on.

Mark grinned a little at Dean's obvious annoyance. He held up his large stack of notes. "Let me tell you guys what I have so far." Mark pulled one of the chairs from the table over so that he was sitting facing both beds. Sam sat down on his own bed, angling himself so that he was facing both Mark and Dean, who was still hunched over on his own bed. "I haven't found out much more than what I told you the other day," Mark said, addressing Dean. "Except for this," he held out two pieces of paper, one for Sam and one for Dean.

The paper was a computer print-out of a semi-circular wand. Engraved in the wand were various symbols and etches of strange animals-like beings.

"A boomerang?" Dean croaked.

"That's not a boomerang, Dean," Sam admonished, looking over at Mark. "These symbols are Egyptian," he stated, confused. "Why would that be relevant in a case involving a Native American curse?"

Mark smiled. "Very good, Sam." Dean kicked Sam's leg, hard.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"Show off."

"Boys," Mark said sternly, though his voice made it clear he was amused. "It _is_ Egyptian, Sam. And it's incredibly old. Probably from as far back as the second millennium BC."

Dean whistled. "Holy shit."

"Yeah, it's extremely old. This is an ivory wand and these symbols," Mark said, leaning forward and pointing to the picture Dean held, "they're Egyptian deities. Kek, Set, Apep, and Menhit, to name a few. Not the good ones, either – they're the dangerous, evil deities that were believed to cause harm. This god here," Mark pointed to a serpent-like creature in the center of the object, "is Unut, the snake goddess. According to ancient Egyptian history, the person who possessed this wand could use it to control these fearsome deities – to summon them and make them obey him or her."

"So we're dealing with black magic?" Sam was thoroughly interested in Mark's information, hanging on to every word. Dean looked like he was close to falling asleep.

"A large part of the Egyptian lifestyle involved magic, or Heka. But it was generally used for protection, not to cause harm. The dangerous beings carved on the ivory wands would protect the owner from evil forces."

"Could the owner summon those gods to use them for evil, though?" Sam asked, beginning to get where Mark was going with this.

"It would stand to reason, yes. Destructive curses were sometimes brought against Egyptian enemies but, again, that was mainly a defensive mechanism. Heka was a way of life, and Egyptians took great responsibility and care with it."

"What if the wand was in the hands of a more unscrupulous person?" Dean's voice was barely above a whisper, and he held his hand to his throat as he swallowed, as if it was too painful to even do that.

"Ahh, so he _is_ paying attention," Mark smiled.

"But why would there be an ancient Egyptian monster-summoning wand mixed in with Native American bones?" Dean questioned.

"I'm not _entirely_ clear on those details, actually. The Esopus tribe, a branch of the Lenape Native Americans, were here before this area was settled by the Huguenots, French Protestants who left France during Louis XIV's ascension to the throne in 1661. There was some speculation that they fled to Africa before finally traveling to the states and settling in New York. How they obtained the wand, I'm not sure, but they must have retrieved it during their time spent in and around Egypt."

"But how do you know that the wand was ever actually _here_, in New Paltz?" Sam asked.

"Like anything else, it's mainly speculation. But history accounts from the Huguenots mention a semi-moon-shaped Egyptian object that 'brought great suffering and pain' to anyone it was used against," Mark read from a paper in his pile. "At some point, the Esopus must have obtained the wand, and first-hand accounts from the Huguenots speak of the great power bestowed upon Chief Papequanaehen, one of the Esopus' most powerful and merciless chiefs. Even though they had less manpower and weaponry, the Esopus were able to ward off almost any attack from outside forces during Papequanaehen's reign."

Dean looked like he wanted to say something, but Sam spoke up first. "If the wand was so powerful, why would they just bury it, then? Wouldn't they keep it, use it to their advantage?"

"Like any supernatural object, the wand could backfire against its possessor. If the owner used the wand carelessly or for simply evil purposes, the dangerous forces inscribed on the wand would turn against the abuser, punishing him the way he had punished his enemies. Chief Papequanaehen, in a battle against the Huguenots, ordered the deaths of dozens of women and children. He was dead the next day, seemingly the victim of a wild dog attack."

"Was that the last time the wand was mentioned?" Dean this time.

Mark nodded. "As far as I can tell."

"And you think they buried the wand with the chief's body?"

"I do. I think the Esopus believed that that was the only way to ensure that no one else would abuse the power. It was their method of protection against evils far too powerful for them to control."

"Okay," Dean said slowly. "So if everything you've said so far is true, and Chief Papequanaehen was one of the bodies they dug up last month, we're potentially dealing with some serious black magic."

"Exactly," Mark said grimly. "And if we don't find it soon, we're going to have a lot more bodies to deal with."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, both of them realizing that this case was going to be _way_ more complicated than they'd originally thought. And, potentially, way more dangerous.

Dean allowed himself to lie back then, the energy he'd mustered to stay awake finally leaving him. Sam looked at his brother, then back at Mark, who seemed just as concerned about Dean as he was. He put his hands over his face, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.

_Shit_.

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><p>Again, the stuff about the Huguenots and the Egyptians, and the Esopus…total fiction, made up specifically to fit the needs of my story. I know almost none of it is historically accurate, so I apologize to anyone who knows that stuff better than I do. I hope the story isn't too confusing for you right now. Let me know if it is, and I'll try to be clearer if I can. Thank you for reading!<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long, but I've had at least one test over the last few weeks. Another test Saturday, but I'll try to make sure I get some writing in. No real action yet, but it's coming up. Thanks for reading and reviewing! It makes my day :)**

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><p>Dean made no attempt to sit back up, and after a few minutes Sam had to check to make sure his brother was even still awake. Dean waved him away, keeping his hands covering his face. "Keep going," he instructed Mark, "I'm listening, my head's just killing me."<p>

Sam shot Mark a look, and Mark nodded, acknowledging both of their concerns. He hesitated but then continued explaining what he knew. "So if it is indeed the wand that's causing these weird occurrences in the school library, we need to find that wand and whoever's controlling it before more people die."

"But if the evil deities have already been summoned, how can we dispel them? Does the possessor of the wand have complete control of them?" Sam asked. Dean made no effort to contribute, just lay as still as possible, listening to them talk.

"Once I figured out what I was looking for, I did extensive research on the subject. I have a few incantations that should work, but I think our real problem will be dealing with the actual human person who did the summoning. If someone is so crazy that he's willing to call up ancient evils to do his bidding, he's not just going to go down without a fight."

"You said before – that the wand could backfire against its possessor if used carelessly. If that's the case, isn't it possible that our guy will be dead before we even find out who he is? Then our problem is solved, right?"

"Have to save him," Dean croaked out, pushing himself up on one arm. "Can't just let him die, Sam."

"But Dean, he brought this on himself. And he's causing the deaths of innocent people."

Dean shook his head weakly. "Doesn't matter, Sam. It's our job."

"Yeah, okay, I know, I get it. Saving people, hunting things…but I'm just saying, if it's a choice between saving ourselves or saving him…"

"_Sam_," Dean's voice was stronger now, letting Sam know to drop the subject.

Mark stayed silent, watching the exchange between the brothers, choosing not to butt into their obviously-personal conversation. Dean's weariness was evident, and not just the physical exhaustion brought on by the illness that was kicking his ass at the moment. Mark wondered what John's death had done to Dean; why he suddenly seemed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"So then where do we start looking?" Sam directed his question to Mark but kept his eyes on his brother.

"I think our best chance in finding the possessor is by looking at the events that have occurred. Why bring destruction to the library? We need to figure out the motive; then we can find out who is doing it."

"Can't we just burn all the bones?" Dean asked wearily, uncharacteristically seeking the easiest, least dangerous solution. He knew his body wasn't up for a fight, and he didn't want Sam to get injured because Dean couldn't watch his back.

Mark grimaced slightly. "Oh yeah, I left that part out didn't I? The bones seem to have disappeared shortly after they were discovered."

"_Disappeared_?" Dean asked incredulously. "You said there was something like two dozen bodies. How the hell could they just disappear?"

"A very good question. And another reason why we need to find out who has the wand. If destroying the wand doesn't work, we very well may have to burn the bodies too."

"What if we already know where the bodies are?" Sam asked, receiving confused looks from Dean and Mark.

"How?" Mark asked him skeptically.

"I was at the library earlier. I wanted to check it out for myself," Sam explained, ignoring the annoyed look on Dean's face. "I know you wanted me to wait for you, Dean, but you were out like a light and I had nothing to do." Dean still seemed pissed but didn't say anything, knowing Sam had a point. "Anyway, I talked to Emily – the coed working at the front desk – and I got some pretty good intel from her."

"Was she hot?"

Sam smirked. "Now _that_ he's interested in. Get your mind out of the gutter, Dean."

"She was, wasn't she? Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Getting more and more like me every day."

"_Anyway_," Sam continued, ignoring Dean's comments, "she was hiding out in the library a few nights after the bodies were discovered and happened to see five or six men carrying the bodies down to the basement."

"Did she recognize them?" Mark asked, still shocked that Sam actually knew where the bodies were.

Sam nodded. "She said she thought a few of them were men from the construction site. She also recognized the dean of the college and one of the anthropology professors."

"What the hell?" Dean asked this time. "Why would they want to destroy the school library?"

"Just because they moved the bodies, it doesn't mean they're the ones who took the wand," Mark pointed out. "Still, that's great information to have. Where in the basement did they hide the bodies?"

"Some secret storage area. Emily showed me on the floor plans, but I didn't have the chance to scope it out. There's some bad news, though. Apparently they've beefed up security since then. According to Emily, there are at least three officers guarding the library every night."

Dean groaned. "Great. Well let's hope we don't need access to the bodies."

Sam agreed. "So we know where the bodies are and we know who moved them, but we don't know why."

"Well let's get back to the sabotage motive," Mark suggested. "The damage to the library has slowed down construction on the additional wing. Who would want to prevent them from expanding it?"

"Probably not the dean," Sam said, thinking aloud. "But we're ignoring a glaring inconsistency. If only one person is using the wand, why were there five or so men involved in the relocation of the bodies? And why was it so secretive? Clearly their motives can't be good."

The three hunters mused over that point for a few minutes before Mark finally spoke up. "I think the only way we can make some headway is by doing more research. But that can wait until tomorrow. And now, we eat," Mark said, opening the box of pizza that Sam had almost forgotten was there.

Mark pulled out some paper plates and handed them to Sam, and Sam dished out slices for the three of them. Dean swallowed hard and eyed the pizza skeptically. "I'm good," he told Sam, pushing back the pizza.

"I figured you'd say that," Mark told him, pulling out a brown paper bag, "that's why I got you some chicken noodle soup." He held up the container, a wide grin plastered on his face at the groan Dean let out.

"I think I'll pass."

Sam was prepared to force the issue, but he didn't have to. Mark was already on it. "Dean, if you're too sick, Sam and I can handle this case on our own."

_Nicely played_, Sam thought, impressed, as Dean predictably straightened at that. "No way. I'm fine," he insisted, but didn't make a move to take the soup from Mark.

Mark smiled, knowing he had won. "If you're fine, then you can eat, Dean. Need to keep your strength up."

Dean glared at the soup in Mark's hand, realizing he was cornered. He turned to Sam who wore an enormously dopey grin on his face. "Fine!" he huffed, grabbing the pizza from Sam. "I'll take the pizza." He took a theatrically big bite, nearly gagging when the cheese and grease hit his mouth, but somehow managed to swallow it. He finished the slice quickly, looking back up at Mark and Sam. "There. Are you happy now?"

Sam shook his head in disbelief, knowing Dean would probably be regretting that move in a short while. "You coulda just had the soup, Dean."

Dean glared at him in annoyance, pushing himself back against the headboard. "Whatever," he grumbled, closing his eyes.

Mark and Sam finished up their pizza, discussing the case a little bit more, both deciding there was nothing more they could do tonight.

Dean, for the most part, stayed out of the conversation, only adding a few noncommittal grunts whenever they asked for his input. His throat was sore and his head was pounding. He also felt overwhelmingly nauseous; the only thing keeping him from losing the pizza he had foolishly eaten earlier was his own stubborn pride. But Dean didn't want Mark or Sam to know they had been right. And he didn't want to be benched from this hunt.

"Dean, did you hear me?" Sam asked loudly, and from the worried tone in his voice, it was obvious this hadn't been the first time he'd asked. Or the second.

"Huh?"

Sam sighed heavily, barely masking his concern. "I said we should go out to the construction site tomorrow morning, see if we can get any information from the workers. Maybe we can figure out who Emily saw moving the bodies to the library."

Dean nodded, barely. "Sure, sounds good." He closed his eyes again to still the hazy spinning of the room and could hear Mark and Sam talking low, no doubt about him. Didn't matter, he was too out of it to listen.

Mark motioned to Dean, standing up. "He doesn't look good, Sam. How long has this been going on?"

Sam studied his brother, inclined to agree. "At least a week, but who knows how long he's been hiding it from me."

Mark nodded, as if he'd been expecting that. "We should let him get some sleep, then. And you look like you could use it too. I'll be back here at 7 sharp."

"Sounds great. And you're right, I'm wiped. See you tomorrow, Mark." Sam followed him to the door. "And thanks," he added, continuing at Mark's confused look, "for looking out for him. I don't think he'd listen to me."

Mark smiled knowingly. "He's just stubborn. But don't worry – it's two against one now. We'll make sure he listens."

Sam stepped back in the room after locking the door, wiping a hand down his face, realizing how exhausted he really was. Dean was sitting up against the headboard, his eyes still closed and his skin pale and pasty. Sam couldn't hear him wheezing anymore but could tell just from watching Dean's chest rise and fall in labored breaths that he was still congested.

"You still awake?" Sam asked, though he was pretty sure Dean had just been feigning sleep to avoid talking to him and Mark. After a few moments, Dean opened one eye to look at his brother.

"Still awake," he grunted hoarsely.

"How are you feeling?" That question had become almost routine now, even though Sam wasn't really expecting an answer.

Dean shifted higher up against the headboard, opening both eyes now. "Like I'm gonna hurl," he admitted, his voice holding a tinge of annoyance. "You suck, by the way."

Sam laughed, sitting on his own bed and pulling off his socks. He nudged the garbage can closer to Dean's bed in case his brother was serious. "No one made you eat the pizza, Dean."

Dean groaned, palming his face with his hand. "No more talk of pizza. Or food in general."

"Whatever, man. You should try and get some sleep if you plan on coming with us to the construction site tomorrow."

"Why wouldn't I be coming?" Dean's voice was on the verge of pissy, and Sam had no intention of pushing it off the edge. He chose not to answer that particular question, instead turning the lights off and climbing under the covers of his bed.

Sam closed his eyes, trying his best to block out the sounds of his brother's congested breathing and the unshakeable dread that all of this was going to get much, much worse before it got any better.

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><p><em>My bad if there are any typos or grammatical errors. I can't force myself to read this again. This chapter is slow, I know, but it will pick up. Thanks for reading! Please review!<em>


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This is long overdue and I thank you for sticking with me! School's been crazy and I always feel guilty if I'm not studying. Thanks for all your wonderful reviews, though! Hope you enjoy this chapter. I still need to figure out how this whole mystery/case is going to pan out, so bear with me until I get there...thanks again guys!

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><p>Sam couldn't fall asleep that night, and it wasn't just the worry that kept him awake. Dean was noisy in the bed next to him, moving around every five minutes or so, seemingly unable to get comfortable. He kept clearing his throat, coughing as quietly as possible into his fist so that Sam wouldn't hear.<p>

After nearly two hours of lying in bed, listening to his brother suffer, Sam sat up and turned on the lights. Dean was lying on his side, his legs pulled up near his stomach, his blanket discarded on the floor. He squinted back at Sam, obviously confused as to why his brother was even awake right now. "Sam?" he croaked, "the hell? Turn the light off."

Sam didn't listen, instead climbing out of bed and going over to the bags he had left on the table earlier. "That cough sounds awful, Dean. And we both need to get some sleep, so stop being stubborn and let me help you."

Dean looked vaguely amused, but didn't argue. Instead he cleared his throat again, more loudly now that he didn't have to worry about waking his brother. "It's not the cough," he told Sam, his voice low and gravelly. "My throat's killing me." He pushed himself up into a semi-sitting position, leaning on one arm and squinting at Sam, his eyes still adjusting to the light.

Sam stopped looking in the bags and looked over at his brother, surprised at the admission. "Do you think you have strep?" Dean shrugged noncommittally, swallowing hard and grimacing. Realizing Dean probably wouldn't know if he had strep, Sam continued prodding. "You had a bad case a few weeks before I left for school – does it feel like that?"

Dean shook his head slightly, remembering how awful it had been that time. He'd barely been able to eat or drink anything for nearly two weeks. This was bad but manageable. "No, that was worse," he admitted.

"When did your throat start hurting?"

"Like this?" Dean asked, putting a hand to his throat when he swallowed. "Just a couple of hours ago." He felt a tickle in the back of his throat and tried to stifle the cough, but it was useless. Dean coughed raggedly into his hand, gripping the edge of the bed sheets as each cough seemed to tear at his throat. "That…" he gasped once the coughing had subsided, "sucked."

Sam was studying him closely. "So it's a sore throat and cough. Man you just can't do anything half-way, can you?"

Dean shrugged. "At least the headache's not so bad anymore."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "Add that to the list, huh? I've got some stuff here for your throat," he told Dean, pulling out a bottle. "And another for the cough. Is there anything else I should know about? You still feel nauseous?"

Dean held up a hand and gave a so-so gesture. "Not like before, but I definitely don't think I'll be up for pizza next time you guys order."

"You coulda had soup."

"You know I hate soup," Dean growled, yanking one of the bottles from Sam and taking a swig.

"Dude!" Sam grabbed for the bottle. "What the hell? You can't just chug it down like that, jerk." He held the other bottle out of Dean's reach and measured out the dosage, handing it to his brother. "You're like a child."

Dean grinned, knocking back the cap-full that Sam handed him. "You're too straight-edged."

"I think you mean responsible."

"Uptight."

"Whatever," Sam said, exasperated. He put the caps back on the medicine bottles and put them with the rest of the things he'd bought at the drug store.

"What time is it?" Dean asked groggily, not bothering to look back at the clock on the side table.

"3:15...shit. We have to meet Mark at 7. Did you get any sleep at all?"

Dean shook his head. "But I slept practically all day. I'm good," he assured Sam, though the fact the he seemed barely able to keep his eyes open completely undermined that statement. "What about you?"

Sam shrugged. "I'll be okay. I perfected the art of pulling all-nighters at Stanford, so 3 hours of sleep is nothing new," he assured Dean, though if he was being honest, the accumulative effect of the lack of sleep this past month was starting to catch up with him. But one more night or week wouldn't matter. "But you should try and go to sleep now. Three hours is better than nothing."

Dean agreed and lay back against the pillows. Whatever shit Sam had given him seemed to be helping a little. If nothing else it was making him even drowsier. He was asleep within minutes. Sam watched as his brother fell back into a fitful slumber, closing his own eyes and trying his best to get some sleep.

He was just beginning to fall into a deep sleep when a banging on the hotel door startled him awake. Sam frowned at the blinking digits on the clock that read 6 AM. "The hell?" he muttered, reluctantly pulling himself up. A quick glance at Dean's bed showed his brother, thankfully, still asleep.

Sam looked through the peephole to see Mark, fully dressed and obviously ready to hunt. Sam quickly unlocked the door, opening it before Mark had a chance to bang again. "I thought you said seven," Sam knew his tone was accusatory, but he was slightly annoyed that he'd been robbed of sleep time, however minuscule it may have been.

Mark looked past Sam to Dean still asleep in his bed and he kept his voice low. "There's been another accident, this time at the construction site. I heard it on my scanner about 30 minutes ago."

Sam rubbed a hand through his hair, suddenly very much awake. "Why were they doing construction at 5 in the morning?"

Mark shrugged. "They may have just been preparing the site for the day. Either way, there are two people dead and one in critical condition at the hospital."

Sam cursed softly. "How'd they die?"

"Scaffolding fell on them. The guy who called 911 was pretty hysterical. He said some freak wind kicked up out of nowhere and knocked the thing over."

"Emily said she thought a few of the men she saw moving the bodies were construction workers. I wonder if they were the ones killed."

"Or if they had something against the men killed. Either way we should go check it out before word of this spreads."

"What about Dean?" Sam asked, motioning towards his brother.

Mark looked over at Dean's prone form. "Ideally I'd say let him sleep. But you know how pissed he'll be if he wakes up and you're not here." Sam nodded. Pissed and worried. "I think we should wake him up. At least then we can keep an eye on him."

Sam agreed. He went to his own bed and got a pillow off of it.

"What's that for?" Mark asked as Sam approached the bed with the pillow raised.

Sam didn't answer, but gently shook his brother's shoulder, saying his name a few times. Dean predictably lashed out, but Sam deftly moved the pillow to block the blow. He could hear Mark laughing behind him and couldn't help but laugh with him. Dean glared at Sam, then at Mark standing behind him. "What the eff?" he groaned. "I just fell asleep."

"Duty calls. There was another accident this morning."

Dean looked over at Mark and began to sit up. "Where?"

"The construction site. I'll fill you in on the way over. Both of you need to get ready. I'll go get us some coffee." Mark was out the door before Dean was even fully vertical, and the second he left Dean slumped back against the pillows.

"You sure you're up to coming?"

Dean glared at his brother again. "_Yes_. I'm just not awake yet."

"How's your throat feel?"

Dean seemed to think about that for a moment, putting a hand to his throat and swallowing. "Feels a little better," he admitted. "Do you have more of that red stuff?"

"Yeah." Sam got up and measured out the dosage before handing it to his brother, not trusting that he wouldn't just chug it like before. Dean quickly downed the dose and handed the measuring cup back to Sam. "Do you want the stuff for your cough?"

Dean shook his head. "Maybe later. Feel okay now."

"Alright, well get ready. Mark should be back any minute."

Sam waited until he saw Dean get out of bed before he headed into the bathroom to shower and change.

The second Sam was out of sight Dean wiped a hand down his face, slicking away the moisture that was there. He could tell he had a fever and the meds he'd been taking since yesterday hadn't seemed to have any real effect, so he grabbed some Tylenol, quickly dry-swallowing four pills. He opened his duffel, pulling out jeans and a plaid shirt and tugging them on, groaning at the persistent ache in his joints.

Dean looked towards the bathroom, listening to the sounds of Sam's electric razor. His eyes began to droop and he was forced to shake himself awake more than once until he finally gave up and lay down on his bed.

Sam finished brushing his teeth and stepped out of the bathroom, immediately seeing Dean passed out on his bed. "Dean!" To his brother's credit, Dean did open his eyes immediately at Sam's yell.

"I'm awake," he insisted, sitting up again.

"You're still tired?"

"It's 6 am in the fucking morning, Sam. Of course I'm still tired."

Sam didn't voice his concern that Dean had practically been sleeping non-stop since they got to New Paltz, and he knew better than to suggest Dean stay here again. "Touché. Are you ready then?"

Dean nodded. "Just gonna brush my teeth and hit the head." He pushed past Sam, closing the bathroom door.

Mark returned with the coffee just as Dean was getting out of the bathroom. "Thank God," Dean sighed, grabbing one of the coffees and taking a big sip.

"Thanks Mark," Sam said, taking his own cup. "Did you hear anything else about the accident?"

"The coffee shop was actually pretty crowded, but no one really knew any more than I already did. There was speculation that the two men killed were Anthony Spitz and Peter Rushmore, though. I don't think that is much help to us until we find out who those two men are and what their role is in this whole Indian burial thing."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Dean asked, trying to hide his tiredness. "Let's roll."

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><p>Flashing lights surrounded the construction site that was now teeming with law enforcement officers and news reporters. After a brief argument, Sam finally agreed that the best plan was to split up, even though it looked like Dean would collapse at any moment. Still, treating his brother like an invalid wasn't going to get them anywhere, and Sam figured if he gave a little now, he could pull some rank later on when Dean got worse. And he had no doubt in his mind that whatever this illness was, it was going to get worse before it got better.<p>

Pushing aside his concerns for the moment, Sam approached one of the officers. Dean had set off to see if he could gather any information from the reporters, and Mark's plan was to sneak onto the accident scene to try and see if he could gather any evidence. Pulling out his most-recent FBI badge, Sam did his best to sound authoritative.

"Officer, a word?" The cop, a young kid who couldn't have been older than 22, looked suitably disturbed by the crime scene. Sam almost felt bad at how easy it was to convince him to talk. As soon as he flashed his badge, the cop – Officer Spagnola – was more than willing to tell Sam everything he knew.

Unfortunately, that turned out to be not that much. But the kid was a local, and did provide one interesting tidbit of information. Although a good number of the construction workers were contracted out from a larger company a few towns over, the two men who had been killed – Spitz and Rushmore, as Spagnola confirmed – were both locals, born-and-bred in the small town of New Paltz. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Dean didn't fare much better than Sam did, though he did come back with some hot reporter's number. How he managed to get anyone's number looking as bad as he did right now was a mystery to Sam. "Any luck?" Dean asked, and Sam almost winced at how raw his voice sounded.

"Not really. Though the two men killed were locals, if that helps."

Dean shrugged. "It's something."

"Yeah, it's something. Have you seen Mark?" Sam looked around as he asked that, squinting against the sun to see if he could make out the older hunter in the crowd.

Dean shook his head. "I'm sure he'll be back soon."

It was another fifteen minutes before Mark returned, and Dean had started to shiver slightly. Sam frowned. It was pretty warm out, especially in the sun, but Dean was quaking like it was ten below. He was just about to offer Dean his coat when Mark approached them, breathing heavily as if he'd been in a hurry to get away from someone. Or something.

"What'd you find?" the brothers asked simultaneously.

Mark chuckled. "Trouble." He motioned to an angry-looking cop who had almost caught up by then.

"Sir…" the cop began, clearly about to scold Mark or ticket him.

Sam stepped forward, pulling out his badge. "He's with me," he explained, all authoritative-like.

"Then why did he run?"

Mark spoke up then, "I'm sorry, Officer. I just wanted to get a better look at the crime scene. I'm a private investigator but I sometimes work with the FBI and I knew you probably wouldn't believe unless he," Mark motioned to Sam, "confirmed it. Sorry for trespassing on the crime scene."

The officer looked like he was going to protest, but Sam clearly looked convincing. "Alright then, but if I catch you disturbing another one of my scenes, FBI consultant or not, I will throw you in jail."

Mark nodded. "Duly noted."

The officer turned to leave, but Sam stopped him. "Was this just an accident?"

He turned back to Sam, giving him a suspicious look. "Why do you ask, son?" Apparently FBI or not, the man was determined to pull rank.

"It's just, there have been a lot of accidents around here lately, don't you think?"

The officer shrugged, his expression not giving anything away. "This town is rich with history," he said simply, then turned and walked back to the scene.

"What the fuck?" Dean croaked. "Could he_ be_ more unhelpful?"

"The townspeople probably don't take well to outsiders," Sam suggested.

Dean shivered again. "This place reminds me of Burkittsville. Those people were crazy."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah and they hated you. Better be on your best behavior here, Dean."

"Fuck you."

"Boys," Mark interrupted. "I'm starving – let's go to the local diner. Maybe these locals won't help us, but I've always found that the people in customer service positions love to please. Maybe we'll find a helpful waitress."

Dean smirked. "God I hope so."

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! Please review :) Also, if any of you have some suggestions, I would LOVE to hear them (translation: help!)<em>


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks for the suggestions and reviews! I think I've figured out where I'm going to go now, so hopefully I'll be able to write this a little more quickly. I have some big tests coming up, though, so it may be a week or two before the next update. Thanks so much for sticking with me, I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>The waitress – Kristen – knew a lot and, thankfully, was very willing to share it. This was due in no small part to Mark's good looks and charm. Sam smirked at how similar Mark's flirting was to Dean's.<p>

Kristen was definitely cute, if a little older than the women Dean usually went for, but Sam was still surprised his brother made no attempt to chat her up. It was a testament to how shitty his brother must have been feeling that he hardly gave the girl a second glance.

"So how long have you lived here, Kristen?" Mark asked smoothly as she was pouring coffee for the three of them.

"My whole life," she said proudly. "Born and raised in New Paltz, NY."

Mark smiled and Kristen visibly swooned at that. "It's a very beautiful town. Listen, Kristen, I'm a bit of a history buff and I've heard that this town has some really rich history. Is there anything you could tell me about the Native American lore?"

Kristen excitedly recounted the history lesson that Mark had given the boys the day before, and Mark pretended to be riveted by it. Sam laughed at his ridiculous display.

After she had carried on for five minutes, Sam interrupted when it was obvious this wasn't going to get them any new information. "Are all the townspeople as helpful as you?" he asked her nicely, knowing that flattery was the best way to get information from someone like her.

Kristen blushed and shook her head. "Depends on who you talk to."

"How do you mean?" Sam prodded.

"Well…" Kristen looked around the diner and lowered her voice. "For as great as this town is, the people are really polarized. It goes back to the town's origins. The Huguenots versus the Esopus. I guess even though the lines between the two have blurred, there are still some who hold grudges."

"I thought all the Esopus had migrated to other areas," Mark interjected, immediately drawing Kristen's attention back to him.

Kristen shook her head. "I mean, sure, there was a diaspora of sorts," Sam raised his eyebrows; Kristen was clearly not the stereotypical dumb blonde, "but a good portion of the Esopus tribe remained in New Paltz. Like I said, the lines have blurred considerably over the generations, and it's nearly impossible to know who is a descendant of the Huguenots and who is a descendant of the Esopus. Usually it doesn't matter. But for some, feelings run deep. If you've experienced any negativity since you've arrived, don't take it too personally."

"Is the Sheriff from the Esopus?" Dean asked, lifting his head off his arms. "Because that guy was a real A-hole."

"Dean," Sam scolded, kicking his brother under the table.

Kristen shook her head, laughing. "Sheriff Maxwell? No way. He just hates people in general. If I were you guys, I'd steer clear of him, though. You do not want to get on his bad side."

"Too late," Dean murmured softly.

It took a sharp look from her shift manager before Kristen remembered that she was still working and had other tables to take care of. Assuring the boys that she would be right back to take their orders, Kristen hurried off.

By the time Kristen returned, the hunters were ready to order. Sam and Mark got the diner specials; three eggs, three pancakes, and a side of bacon. Dean hadn't been planning on ordering anything, but Sam strong-armed him into at least getting a short stack of pancakes. Sam knew that whether or not his brother chose to eat them would be a whole other battle.

"So a town divided, huh?" Sam asked after they had ordered.

Mark hesitated. "I'm not sure divided is the right term, and I don't think the town is as polarized as Kristen seems to think it is. I do buy the anger from the Esopus descendants, though. We should go back to the library and see if there's anything that can help us determine how the animosity has changed over the years."

Sam nodded. "What do you think, Dean?"

Dean had been listening lazily to their conversation, sipping at his coffee and willing the dull pain in his head to back off. "Yeah, sounds good," he answered, lifting his eyes to look across the table at Mark and his brother. "Hey maybe I can meet your hot library friend," he tried for a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Sam smiled back, grateful for Dean's attempt at levity.

Kristen brought their breakfast platters out very quickly, flirting with Mark for a few minutes before hurrying back to the kitchen. Mark and Sam dove in right away, devouring the heart-burn-inducing meals as if they hadn't eaten in days. Just like at the diner in Manalapan, Dean was far less enthusiastic about his food. Simply watching Sam and Mark scarf down their breakfasts was making him nauseous.

Knowing that Sam would keep bugging him until he ate, Dean carefully cut up the pancakes and took a small bite. The first bite settled heavily in his stomach, but Dean managed to take a few more before giving up and returning to taking sips of coffee. He didn't know why, but the bitter liquid seemed to settle his stomach a little.

"So are we heading to the library after breakfast?" Sam asked around a bite of pancake.

Mark nodded. "Might as well. I don't think we're going to get anything from that construction site."

"What about from the other guy?" Dean croaked out.

"What other guy?" Sam asked, confused.

"The other construction guy. The one that didn't die."

Sam looked over at Mark. "You said he was in critical condition?"

"Yeah," Mark confirmed, "but that was just what I had heard on the scanner, so who knows how accurate that was." Mark paused for a moment, thinking. "How bout you two check out the library and I'll head to the hospital to see about the eye witness?"

Sam wanted to protest, but Dean was already shaking his head yes, and so Sam agreed as well. With the plans decided, he and Mark continued to eat their breakfasts while Dean pushed around the food on his plate, decidedly uninterested in eating any more.

It was another five minutes before Dean started to shift in his seat, attempting to find a comfortable position. He was sweaty, hot, and nauseous, and the feelings seemed inescapable.

"Dude," Sam's voice was low and concerned. "Are you okay?"

Dean didn't answer, but his glare said enough.

Sam didn't back down though. "Sorry man, but you're sweating like a pig and you're really pale. Maybe we should…"

Dean didn't hear the rest of that because he was already up and moving to the back of the diner as quickly as he could, reaching the bathroom just in time before sinking to his knees in front of one of the toilets and expelling everything he'd just eaten, the act leaving him winded and shaken. He closed his eyes as the throbbing in his head intensified and he wished that he was anywhere but in a crowded diner, where the sounds and smells only worsened his nausea.

Sam had been ready to follow the second Dean had bolted, but Mark had urged him to stay. "Let him be, Sam. I know you're worried, but he's just going to fight you more."

Sam reluctantly agreed to sit tight, but he pushed away his plate and focused on the coffee instead. His knee shook up and down repeatedly with nervous tension and he kept taking periodic glances in the direction of the bathroom, waiting to see when Dean would return. When another ten minutes had passed with no sign of his brother, Sam pushed himself up out of the booth. "I'm checking on him," he told Mark, and Mark looked like he had been seconds away from doing the same.

Sam pushed into the bathroom, finding it empty save for the last stall, where he could see Dean's biker boots poking out from under the door. "Dean," he said, tentatively pushing open the stall door. Dean had his back against one side of the stall, and his hair was sweat-slicked and plastered against his head. He was stark white in the pale lighting of the bathroom, his skin waxy and translucent. Dean turned his head sluggishly at the sound of Sam's voice.

"Hey," he said quietly, hiccoughing slightly.

Sam crouched down next to his brother, reaching out a hand to feel his brother's forehead. Dean knocked the hand away, but not before Sam could feel the furnace-hotness of his skin. "The fuck?" Dean grunted.

"You're burning up."

Dean gave Sam a look that clearly read,_ no shit, Sherlock._

Sam chuckled in spite of himself. "Let's get out of here."

Dean nodded, pushing himself up on his knees. Sam reached out to help, but Dean pulled away suddenly, lunging back towards the toilet to vomit stomach acid into the bowl. He coughed and sputtered, pressing a hand to his head when he'd finished. Sam sighed heavily behind him, reaching over his shoulder to flush the toilet. "C'mon man," he prodded, and this time Dean allowed Sam to help him stand. He swayed for just a minute when he was fully vertical, but pushed Sam away after a minute.

"M' okay," Dean said weakly, walking to the sink and turning on the faucets. He splashed cold water on his face for a few minutes, trying to wash away the suffocating hotness. He saw Sam's worried face in the mirror and turned around. "Sorry," he offered pathetically.

"For what?" Sam asked, truly confused.

"I know you don't want to have to worry about me." He shrugged. "I don't know what's wrong with me, man. I feel like shit. But I don't want to sit this one out either."

Sam sighed heavily – something he'd been doing a lot lately. "I just don't want you to get hurt. Or for this illness to turn too serious." _Not that it wasn't bad enough already_.

Dean nodded. "It won't." He squirmed under Sam's scrutinizing look. "We're not even hunting the damn thing yet. I can't get hurt doing research."

"The fact that you actually want to do research is scary enough, Dean."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah well it's better than lying at the motel like an invalid."

Sam couldn't argue with that, even if that was exactly what he wanted Dean to be doing. "Yeah, okay," he relented. "You and I can go to the library and Mark can check out the hospital. But you need to take some of the meds I bought."

Dean agreed, and not simply to appease his brother. He'd do anything to get rid of this headache. "Fine. But I get to hit on the hot librarian."

Sam snorted. "Deal."

Emily wasn't in the library and Sam was surprised to find himself disappointed by that. Dean didn't seem to care though – he was too out of it to even notice. A kind-looking older lady was standing at the circulation desk instead and greeted the boys with a smile, immediately asking how she could help them. Sam used the same excuse he'd used the day before about needing to research for his thesis, and soon enough she had them set up with books and old newspapers in a quiet back corner of the library.

"Do you need anything, dear?" the woman asked Dean, who had just about dropped into the chair the second he'd seen it.

Dean looked up, startled. He sat up a little straighter and tried to look less pathetic, but from the look on the woman's face, he'd failed miserably at that. "No thanks, I'm good," he told her gruffly. She tsked at him, but didn't push the issue, instead heading back to her post by the door.

"You wanna take the newspapers?" Sam asked, pushing them towards Dean.

"Yeah sure. What exactly am I looking for, anyway?"

"I'm not sure really. See if you can find anything about what Kristen had been telling us – the separation between the Esopus descendants and the Huguenots. Maybe there isn't anything, but I imagine if it's as divided as she implied, there's been some newsworthy flare ups."

"And what are you going to do?"

Sam motioned towards the textbooks. "I'm going to write a thesis."

Sam quickly found himself lost in the incredible history of the Esopus, but he soon realized he wasn't learning anything that would help him with the case. He glanced over at Dean, who was intently reading some article in one of the old newspapers he had spread on his desk.

"Did you find something?"

Dean held up a finger as he quickly finished scanning the article. "We really need to find out who moved those bodies," Dean insisted.

"Why?" Sam asked, sliding the article over so he could see what Dean had read.

Dean began to gather the articles, obviously intent on leaving as soon as possible. "Because I'm pretty sure they're going to die."

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! Please review :)<em>


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry for taking so long! But good news is I have most of the next chapter written already so it will be posted in another day or two. And then probably one or two chapters after that.

One reference to point out in this chapter is the harvest festival that I mention when talking about one of the Esopus curses. The back story for that is loosely based on the Harvest Festival episode from the TV show Parks & Recreation.

Thanks for sticking with me! I hope you enjoy.

Sam didn't move to put away the history books, and Dean looked at him expectantly. "Come on, man. We have to go."

**"**What did you find, Dean?" Sam had his hand on the newspapers, preventing Dean from putting them away. "I'm sure a few minutes won't make a difference. Just tell me what you found."

Dean sighed heavily, sinking back into his seat. He slid an article over towards Sam. "This has happened before. Nineteen seventy three, to be exact. And again in '95." Sam looked down at the article Dean had given him while Dean continued to speak. "Four people died under suspicious circumstances within the span of one month."

Sam looked up, deciding to forgo looking for the information Dean had obviously already found. "So what was the link between the deaths?"

Dean cleared his throat, coughing slightly and kneading a hand across his forehead, unhappy that Sam was obviously not going to leave without knowing the details. "In 1973 the town held a harvest festival for the three hundredth anniversary of Chief Papequanaehen's death."

**"**That seems kind of morbid."

Dean snorted. "Yeah. Here, look at this." He pushed one of the papers towards Sam. "Apparently there were a lot of townspeople who were unhappy about the festival in the first place."

**"**The Esopus descendants."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I assume so. After all, why would they be in favor of a festival celebrating the brutal death of their chief?"

**"**So the Esopus versus the Huguenots again. That's definitely a common theme in this town."

**"**It's stupid, that's what it is. You'd think three hundred years would be long enough to get over their feud. But anyway," Dean continued, "the festival hit a few snags along the way. The head of the planning committee died of some freak animal attack two weeks before the festival. And the second-in-command died just a few days after that. The town wanted to cancel the festival because they were certain that it was cursed, but the mayor refused to shut it down. Apparently too much money had been invested into it and canceling it would bankrupt the town."

**"**Let me guess. The mayor died."

**"**I wish."

**"**Dean," Sam chastised.

**"**What? Oh right, sorry. But it would have been preferable to what did happen. Here's the newspaper from the next day." Dean slid one more paper over to Sam.

**"**Oh, shit."

Dean nodded knowingly. "Yeah. Complete disaster. The Ferris wheel that they had brought in specifically for the festival collapsed, killing two people and injuring about a dozen more."

Sam didn't say anything for a minute, quickly scanning the article. "Were the people who were killed part of the planning committee?"

**"**They were just normal townspeople, I think. And four children were seriously injured."

**"**And what about the incident in '95?"

**"**Yeah, I didn't find that much on that, but I still think it was related. A few contractors had proposed a new housing development that would have required digging on sacred Esopus land. There weren't any deaths, but enough freak accidents happened during the planning that the whole project was just abandoned."

**"**And then nothing until now?"

Dean waved his hand at the papers scattered across the table. "Feel free to look for yourself. But if there was anything like the festival, I think I would have seen it. Did you find anything in those books?"

Sam looked at his own notes, slightly embarrassed by his lack of progress. "Not much more than we already knew. Although..." he trailed off, flipping through the pages of one of the books that focused on Chief Papequanaehen and Heka. "Here," Sam said, pointing to a passage in the book. "Read that."

**"**_And so it shall be, from this day forth, that only he who is a child of this great tribe shall have the power to raise the glorious one,"_Dean read. "I don't get it."

**"**They uttered this chant before burying Chief Papequanaehen with the wand."

**"**I thought they buried the wand so no one would be able to use it again."

Sam nodded. "I guess they trusted themselves more than they did the Hugeunots. I think this was a kind of a safeguard against the wand getting into the wrong hands. With this spell, the only people who could use the wand to summon evil were descendants of the Esopus."

**"**Well that changes things," Dean mused. "Mark's whole theory that the wand was discovered when the bodies were dug up is kind of invalid now, no?"

**"**Yeah, especially since it seems like the wand must have been used on those other occasions too. And unless the construction workers and university faculty are descendants of the Esopus, they wouldn't have been able to use the wand. I don't know why they still took those bodies, but I think they may have sealed their fate by doing so," Sam concluded. "We should go talk to..." Sam broke off mid-sentence, feeling the vibrating of his cell phone in his jeans pocket. He pulled it out and checked the caller ID. "It's Mark," he told Dean, getting up from the table.

**"**Why the hell is he calling _you_?" Dean asked, annoyed. Sam held up a hand to shh him, then moved to an aisle to hide himself from the librarian.

**"**Mark? What's up?"

**"**Peter Burns died."

**"**Who?"

**"**The third guy from the construction site."

**"**Dammit. He didn't survive the accident?"

Sam could almost hear Mark shaking his head no. "He did. Hell, they were going to let me see him, but there was some sort of malfunction with this breathing tube. He suffocated in his own damn hospital bed."

**"**Shit," Sam murmured, seeing Dean approach him. "Dean was right."

**"**What are you talking about?" Mark asked. "Right about what?"

**"**We'll explain when we see you. Let's head back to the Bed & Breakfast now, though. We've got a lot to discuss and I think we need a new game plan."

**"**Yeah, sounds good. How's Dean doing?"

Sam glanced at his brother, trying to prevent him from hearing what they were discussing. "About the same," he said quietly. "See you in a bit."

**"**What'd he say?" Dean had the stack of newspapers in his hand, and Sam went over to the table to grab the books he'd been using.

**"**Peter Burns - the third construction worker - just died of some freak accident in the hospital. You were right, I think. We need to talk to Dean Holgrum and Bill Watkins, the head of the anthropology department, before they become victims four and five. And then we need to figure out who the hell is doing this and how we can make them stop."

Dean drove the car to the bed and breakfast, though Sam had put up a cursory fight. The truth was, Dean did seem slightly better after getting sick at the diner, and it was only about a two minute drive back to their room. Still, Sam kept a close eye on Dean while he drove, ready to pull rank if the need presented itself.

Mark was standing outside their door when Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot. Sam quickly unlocked the door to their room and the three filed in.

**"**So what have you boys got for me?" Mark's attitude seemed more serious now. Sam supposed the gravity of the case was weighing on him. Three deaths in the the span of twelve hours would certainly do that to you.

**"**We think the person controlling the wand is an Esopus descendant," Dean explained quickly, slightly annoyed that he seemed to have been relegated to the sidelines for this case. "And the dean of the college and the head of the anthropology department will be the next two people to die unless we can stop whoever has the wand."

**"**Whoa, hold up. So you don't think the stealing of the bodies had anything to do with obtaining the wand?"

Dean shrugged. "That may very well have been their intent. But Sam and I are almost positive they didn't find the wand when they excavated those bodies."

**"**How can you be so sure?"

**"**Because this isn't the first time something like this has occurred," Sam spoke up, seeing that Dean was growing tired - the effort of retelling the story to Mark seemed to have sapped him of energy.

**"**We also found this," Dean was sitting on his bed now, his elbows on his knees, but he pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Mark.

**"**Dean," Sam groaned when he recognized the paper as the passage from the history book. "You can't just rip out pages from library books!"

Dean glared at Sam. "Really? Who the hell is going to miss that? You're such a..."

**"**Boys!" Mark interrupted, stopping their argument. "What is this, Dean?"

Dean shrugged slightly. "Ask Sam, he's the history nerd."

Mark couldn't hold back a slight chuckle at that, even if it earned him a glare from Sam. "Okay, Sam. What exactly does this mean?"

**"**I'm pretty sure this ritual - or chant- was uttered by the Esopus before they put Chief Papequanaehen's body into the ground. They knew the power of the wand and the damage it could cause, so by burying it they tried to ensure that their people - and their ancestors - would never get their hands on it. But they knew this probably wasn't enough to keep the wand from falling into enemy hands, so they performed this ritual to make the wand impotent to non-Esopus."

Dean laughed loudly. "Impotent," he repeated and laughed again. Sam shoved him lightly.

**"**Stop being such a child."

**"**If it was so dangerous, though, why not just make it powerless to everyone?" Mark asked, ignoring the brothers' mini-feud.

**"**It was still a great weapon to have. And at that point in time, the Esopus were firmly entrenched in a territorial battle with the new settlers. I believe they didn't want to sacrifice it as a weapon."

**"**Maybe the head of the anthropology department would know more," Mark suggested.

**"**You mean like why the hell they thought stealing the bodies was a good idea?" Dean croaked.

**"**Yeah, like that. We'll see if we can find the dean too. I have a feeling they'll be so freaked about the deaths, they'll tell us what we want to know," Sam added.

**"**Alright, sounds like a plan. Wanna split up again? I'll take the professor, you two take the dean," Mark asked.

**"**Uhh," Sam hesitated, looking back at his brother. Whether Dean gave in to his body's needs or not, Sam knew he'd be wiped pretty soon. Still, if they only warned one of the men and the other ended up dying, Sam knew he couldn't forgive himself. "Yeah, okay," he agreed. "But after this, we stick together. This is some pretty powerful black magic. We can't let our guards down at all."

Mark agreed and they made plans to meet up at 6:30 at the local pizzeria.

**"**I just love it when you take charge like that, Sammy," Dean told his brother sarcastically after Mark had left.

**"**Good, then sit down," he pushed Dean down onto the bed, ignoring his brother's annoyed protests. "If you insist on not sitting this one out, then you're going to do what I say. Deal?"

**"**I don't think I like how that sounds."

**"**Dean. I'm serious. It's two against one here. Stop being such a stubborn jerk. You and I both know you're sick, so stop fighting and let me help you."

Dean sighed heavily. "Fine, if it will get you off my back. What do you want me to do?"

**"**Here, drink this," Sam said, holding out a capful of the cough medicine. He pulled out a few more meds for Dean to take.

**"**Sam, I can't take all of these. I need to be awake."

"They're the non-drowsy kind. And anyway, what good is being awake if you can't concentrate because your head hurts too badly?"

Dean eyed the meds distastefully, wondering how Sam could read him so well. "Fine," he grumbled, but eventually swallowed them down. "Let's go."

Dean Holgrum was larger than Sam had expected and he spoke with an authority that was intimidating even to Sam. It was obvious that he had a lot on his mind and wanted nothing to do with the two strangers who had shown up at his office. Sam could tell he was going to kick them out if they didn't make a compelling reason for him to listen, so he planned to get right to the point. Dean beat him to it.

**"**We think you're cursed," he croaked out, and Sam almost laughed at how non threatening Dean seemed. "We know you stole the bodies, and if you don't listen to us, you're going to die."

But the dean seemed more annoyed than scared, and picked up his office phone, threatening to call campus police.

**"**Hear us out a minute," Sam pleaded, holding up his arms in a placating gesture. "We just want to help you. We know you took the bodies - we have an eye-witness. We just want to know why."

The dean eyed them carefully, but he put down the phone after a moment or two. "Who are you?"

Dean moved to pull out his FBI badge, but Sam stopped him. "I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean. We came here to after all the weird occurrences at the library. We know a thing or two about ancient curses and we just want to help."

Holgrum still eyed them warily, his hand hovering over the phone.

**"**Peter Burns is dead," Dean added tiredly, and Sam hoped the exhaustion in his voice would get through to Holgrum. "Anthony Spitz and Peter Rushmore, too. But I'm guessing you already knew that, didn't you?"

Holgrum sighed loudly, the fight immediately leaving him. He no longer looked like the imposing figure he had when they'd first entered the office. Now he just looked like a tired, scared man who was in way over his head. "I didn't know about Peter, no. But I guess I'd been expecting it."

**"**Why did you move the bodies, Dean Holgrum?" Sam asked gently.

**"**Call me Richard," Holgrum requested. "It was stupid, I know. We were going to move them to the museum eventually. We just didn't want to risk any of the Esopus descendants taking them. It's happened before, you know. They think just because their great great great ancestors were Esopus, they can mess with historical artifacts. Those bones should be in a museum, not buried in some unmarked Indian graveyard."

Sam was starting to get seriously annoyed with the guy, but he kept his comments to himself. "So you weren't looking for the wand?"

Richard's eyes didn't register any recognition, and Sam guessed he didn't even know about the he had seemed so interested in Esopus history. Sam was shocked he didn't know about it. "What wand?" Richard asked, confirming Sam's suspicion. He was trying to think of a lie when Dean saved him, breaking out into a terrible coughing fit. Sam immediately went to his brother's side, hovering protectively as his brother coughed and sputtered.

**"**Is he okay?" Richard asked, obviously concerned.

Sam glanced up from his perch by Dean's side. "He's fine," Sam lied, for some reason unwilling to let Holgrum know how sick his brother really was. He waited for Dean to stop coughing, then whispered low into his brother's ear, "_Are_you okay?"

Dean shook his head minutely, "Need to sit down," he grunted, putting a considerable amount of weight on Sam's shoulders. Richard had been watching the two, and he pulled out a chair for Dean. Sam nodded his thanks, depositing his too-hot brother into the seat. "Do you need anything?" Sam asked anxiously. "Do you want me to get you water?"

**"**I'll get him some," Richard spoke up, and hurried from the room. Sam felt momentarily guilty about his initial impression of the man. He didn't seem so bad anymore, and he seemed genuinely concerned for Dean's well being.

**"**We need to get you back to the motel," Sam decided, taking in his brother's haggard appearance. The illness was certainly progressing way too quickly for his liking.

Dean shook his head more forcefully this time. "No. We finish this first."

**"**Dean you're in no shape..."

**"**_Sam_. Please. If we stop...I don't think I'll be able to keep going."

Sam wanted to shout _that's the point_, but Richard was already coming back into the room and he didn't want to start anything now. "Here you go," Richard said, handing Sam the cup. Dean looked up at him, taking it from Sam.

**"**Thanks," he grunted, taking a big sip of the ice cold water, relishing the coolness on his throat.

**"**So," Richard asked after a minute. "What about this wand you were talking about?"

Sam had hoped that he'd forgotten, and he fumbled to come up with an adequate lie. "Just an artifact that one of our friends had mentioned when we told him we were coming up here. He's a major history buff, especially about Native American history. So he knows every tiny detail about the Esopus."

Richard nodded, but still seemed a little skeptical. "So do you know what's causing this, then? And why are my friends dying?"

**"**How long have you lived here?" Sam asked. Surely if the dean had lived here for awhile, he would know about the harvest festival.

**"**I've only been at the college since 2004. Before that I was dean of admissions at Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs."

**"**So then you don't really know much about this town's history? About the conflict between the Esopus and the Huguenots?"

Holgrum seemed offended by that and defended himself vehemently. "I know the history," he said evenly, his voice bordering on angry. "Maybe not every aspect of it. But that's why I want to preserve it."

**"**He wasn't trying to insult you," Dean offered from his perch in the chair. "It just helps explain why you didn't know about the last time this happened."

**"**The _last_time?" Holgrum asked, his voice breaking slightly. "This has happened before?"

**"**At least twice," Sam confirmed. "We think it has something to do with the Esopus descendants trying to preserve their history from outsiders like you who try to interfere with it." Sam knew that last statement wouldn't earn him any favors from the dean, but at this point, that was the last thing on his mind.

Holgrum looked predictably pissed, but chose not to address the dig by Sam. "Well how do we stop it?"

Dean shrugged. "Your guess is as good as ours. I think the first step, though, would be to return the bodies to where they came from."

Holgrum looked conflicted for a microsecond, until Sam reminded him it was either that or certain death. "How soon can we do it?"

**"**Tonight," Dean said firmly, looking hard at his brother and daring Sam to contradict him.

Sam did anyway. "No, not tonight. We're not prepared – we still don't know what we're dealing with."

**"**All we're going to do is move the bodies, Sam. It's not like we're trying to fight whomever's behind the deaths. What's the worst that could happen."

Sam groaned. "Do you even need me to list how this could potentially go wrong?"

**"**No thanks. Look, Sam, stop being so uptight. There's three of us right here. With Mark and the anthropology professor we have five. I think it will be easier to protect everyone now rather than worry about when or where the next 'accident' may strike."

Sam hesitated, not willing to admit Dean had a point.

**"**What about you guys?" Holgrum spoke up. "You're involved now, aren't you? How do you know you're not in danger too?"

Dean heard Sam curse quietly behind him, but used this new point to his advantage. "Sam," he kept his voice low so only his brother could hear it. "We both know I'm getting worse. We might as well try to find the wand while I can still stand."

**"**Let's see what Mark says," Sam gave in, taking out his phone and stepping outside the office so he could talk in private.

Dean fidgeted nervously in his chair, knowing Holgrum was studying him closely. He really hoped Sam would relent and agree to go tonight. His body felt leaden – weighed down with exhaustion. Dean knew the second he lay down he wouldn't be able to get up.

Holgrum cleared his throat in an attempt to break the silence. "So I assume you guys deal with this sort of thing a lot?"

Dean raised his eyes to look at Holgrum. "Yeah, you could say that." He coughed into his fist, lowering his eyes to look at the floor again and hoping Holgrum would get the hint and stop talking. If he did get the hint, though, he chose to ignore it.

**"**We didn't mean any harm by moving the bodies. We just thought it was important for to preserve the past."

Dean didn't feel like answering, so he merely grunted his acknowledgment.

**"**Do you think I'm going to die?"

Dean wanted to tell the guy to shut up, but knew he was just scared. He looked at Holgrum one more time. "Not on my watch."

Holgrum seemed satisfied with that answer and remained quiet until Sam returned from his phone call. "Mark thinks we should go tonight." Dean smiled smugly. "Whatever you're going to say, don't." Sam told him. "Mark is just as unhappy about this as I am, but he thinks this is our best chance to protect Holgrum and Watkins."

Dean nodded, having a hard time suppressing his grin. "Did he get anything from the anthropology professor?"

Sam nodded. "Well, for one, he knew about the previous incidents and he even provided Mark with a few more that we didn't already know about."

**"**Well then why the hell would he advocate taking the bodies?" Dean whispered, sneaking a glance at Holgrum to see if he had heard them.

**"**Mark said he avoided that question, but to me it sounds like he was hoping to find other powerful relics similar to the wand."

**"**Bill lied?" Holgrum spoke up. He'd obviously heard what Sam and Dean had been discussing. "He said he just wanted to preserve the town's history. Like me."

**"**Sorry to break it to you, Rich, but sounds like your buddy is a real S.O.B." Dean told him. "And I'm sure your construction buddies weren't operating merely under altruistic measures, either."

**"**Dean," Sam nudged his brother. "Either way, the fact is that unless we return those bodies to where you found them, both of you are in grave danger. And you're right, we've probably put ourselves at risk too. We need to get into the library tonight. Can you call off the security officers who have been standing guard at the library?"

Holgrum nodded, still visibly shaken by the turn of events. "I'll do so immediately." He went to his phone to make the call.

**"**So what's our plan?" Dean asked.

**"**Mark says he'll meet us at the library in fifteen minutes. He's picking some stuff up at his room just in case."

**"**And what do we do after we move the bodies?"

Sam shook his head slightly. "No idea, but that can wait until tomorrow."

**"**Okay, they're leaving," Holgrum announced. "How the hell will I be able to explain this?"

**"**You should have thought about that before you stole the bodies in the first place," Sam pointed out, his tone slightly accusatory.

Holgrum nodded. "You're right, son. And if I could take it back I would."

**"**Well you can't take it back, but maybe you can make it right," Dean told him, pushing up from his chair, wobbling on weak legs. "Let's go."

Confused yet? I know I am...anyway let me know what you think! Stay tuned for mucho Dean whumping!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: So this took more than two days, but I pretty much wrote triple what I had expected to, so hopefully that makes up for it. It's about 4 AM right now and I'm still up because I wanted to finish this chapter...I'm an idiot. I apologize for any mistakes or formatting issues. I've been having problems with this site lately and my eyes hurt too much for me too proofread at the moment. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"You sure you're up to this?" Sam asked, turning to his brother in the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean had relinquished the keys without any prompting from his brother, happy if he could just keep his eyes open long enough for them to reach the library.<p>

"Yes, Sam. For the thousandth time, I'm sure," Dean rasped. But when they were done he was going to sleep for a week.

"Okay, okay. There's Mark." Sam gestured to their friend who was emerging from his own car, carrying a bulky bag. A short, stocky man lumbered out after him.

"And George Costanza," Dean added with a chuckle.

"That's Bill Watson. Son of a bitch," Holgrum said angrily.

"Calm down, we need you two to be civil for now," Sam instructed. "You can tear him a new one later."

Dean circled the car, opening the trunk and gathering a few things to put in their duffel bags. "What do you think we should bring?" He asked when Sam had joined him.

"A little bit of everything, probably."

Dean nodded. "Mark!" he yelled over to the hunter, beckoning him to the car. "What do you have in there?" he asked, pointing to Mark's own bag.

"Holy water, salt rounds, iron. Oh, and some Heka - binding spells and cleansing rituals. I think we should be okay for now. I think you've got enough in there," he told Dean, motioning to his bag.

"So what do we do with the two civilians?" Sam asked after Dean had packed up the bag. Holgrum still sat in the car and Bill Watkins was standing near Mark's car, clearly not thrilled about being involved in the operation.

"I say we take them with us," Mark offered. "That way we can watch them, make sure they don't get killed. And it wouldn't hurt having five people with us."

"Plus, it _is_their fault," Dean muttered. Sam turned to look at his brother.

"What happened to the 'we need to save them' spiel from before?"

"Yeah well, that was before we knew what we know now."

Sam huffed out a laugh, though he couldn't really disagree with his brother. Plus, he had a feeling that Dean's worsening condition had something to do with his lack of sympathy for the two men responsible for this whole mess.

Sam knocked on the window of the Impala and Richard Holgrum reluctantly emerged from the car. "Are you sure we're not in any danger?" he asked nervously.

"No, Richard, it's exactly the opposite. But you're in danger regardless of whether or not we move these bodies," Sam told him impatiently. "And it's probably in your best interest that we do it as quickly as possible."

"Fine," he agreed. "Does _he_have to come?" Holgrum pointed to his shady colleague.

"Lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas," Dean grunted, seeing a flicker of annoyance cross Bill Watkin's face. "It's not like you're innocent either," he told Richard.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road, gentlemen," Mark announced, and Richard had no choice but to acknowledge Bill. "Ready?" he asked, not expecting them to answer. "Great, let's go."

The library was pitch dark and no guards were in sight. Sam flicked on one of the overhead lights, choosing not to illuminate the entire building. If anyone was driving past, he didn't want them to grow curious and investigate. They had enough problems on their hands dealing with two untrained civilians.

"We need you to take us to the hidden room," Sam instructed Bill and Richard. "What? Didn't think we knew about that?" he asked, addressing their surprised expressions. "You guys weren't as sneaky as you thought."

Holgrum and Watkins led the three hunters down into the basement and Sam mentally pictured the route that Emily had described to him. Even with her detailed account, though, Sam realized he never would have found the hidden room. It was exactly where she had said it would be, but could only be opened by pulling a certain brick in the wall. Someone _reall_y didn't want this place to be found.

"It's like something out of Indiana Jones," Dean murmured, awestruck while the brick wall opened, creating a dark passageway. Sam laughed at his brother's obvious excitement. "Anyone have a torch?" Dean asked aloud.

"We don't need one," Watkins informed Dean gruffly, flicking on a light switch that lit up the passageway.

Dean looked over at Sam, "Still think a torch would have been cooler," he whispered.

Sam laughed, nudging Dean forward. "Me too, bro."

The hallway, though not incredibly long, was filled with twists and turns obviously meant to provide one last measure of protection against the chamber's contents. All Sam could think about was how annoying it was going to be to have to navigate the hallway while carrying the bodies and artifacts, all the while protecting themselves from an ancient, powerful curse.

The bodies were neatly laid out at the end of the tunnel in what appeared to be a makeshift burial site. Still, it didn't take away from the fact that they shouldn't have been there in the first place.

"Is this everything?" Mark asked, eyeing the items critically. Richard's immediate "yes" to the question made Bill's hesitation even more noticeable. "Bill, if you have anything, we need to know right now. Moving the bodies back won't do shit if there are things missing."

Bill sighed loudly, but reached around to his neck, revealing a gold pendant. He pulled the pendant over his head and handed it Mark, who studied it for a moment.

"What does that stand for?" Sam asked, looking over Mark's shoulder at the pendant.

"It wards off evil spirits," Mark glanced at Bill before placing the pendant with the rest of the artifacts. "It wouldn't have worked," he added matter-of-factly. "It only works for Esopus descendants. I'm surprised you didn't know that," Mark said, receiving the intended reaction from Watkins.

"I didn't take it for protection," Bill said unconvincingly. "It doesn't matter anyway. This stuff should be preserved. It's stupid that anyone has this kind of power."

"I agree about the power part," Mark told him, "but the bodies _do_rightfully belong to the Esopus."

"They'd be happy to just leave them in an unmarked grave," Richard grumbled in agreement with Bill. "We're trying to make a vital part of this town's history accessible to its people."

Sam groaned loudly. "How many times do we have to remind you that you could die because of this?"

Dean yawned, stretching his arms out. "I don't know about you guys, but I'd kill to be in a bed asleep right about now. How about we start moving some bodies?"

"The burial site is a five minute drive from here," Mark pointed out. "We should take alternate trips to make sure we don't leave the library unguarded. And since Bill and I get along so well," Mark added jokingly, "he can come with me and if he behaves, I'll make sure the Esopus spirits don't tear him to shreds."

Bill and Richard looked anything but amused, and Sam guessed Mark had achieved what he'd intended to with that comment. "Yeah that sounds good," he agreed. "But let's do this as quickly as possible. This should only take about four trips at most, and we don't need anyone seeing what we're doing."

Dean crouched down, examining the bodies more closely. He coughed into his fist as the dust and dirt that covered the tattered remains irritated his throat. "You mean I have to put these in my baby?" he asked, looking nervously up at Sam.

Sam chuckled. "Suck it up, Dean. We'll put down a few blankets. Your _baby_will be fine."

"That's why I drive a crappy old rust bucket. Never have to worry about the upholstery," Mark said proudly. "Alright Billy Boy, you and I are making the first trip, so let's get moving."

The five men carefully moved the bodies and artifacts to the first floor, and Mark, Richard, Sam, and Bill took turns moving them out to Mark's car. Dean stayed in the library, standing guard at the entrance. Or at least that was what Sam had told him he was doing, mainly because it was the only way to force Dean into getting some semblance of rest.

Even though Dean had tried to keep up with the other men, Sam could tell it was taking every ounce of his energy. Not to mention, the second he stepped outside into the brisk air, his lungs had seized up and he'd broken off into a coughing fit that had left him drained. So yeah, he wasn't really going to argue with the current set-up. He may have been stubborn, but he wasn't a masochist.

Sam came back into the library, brushing off his pants that were now covered in corpse-dust and dirt. Richard walked in behind him. "Mark's car is full," Sam told Dean. "He's just going to take those bodies and artifacts back to the burial site and then Rich and I can make our run."

Dean nodded, not missing the implied _and you can stay here_. "You two should go with Mark now. Wouldn't that speed up this whole operation?" Sam had been anticipating that question from his brother and had already formulated a response.

"Doesn't make sense for the four of us to go. Rich and I can load up the Impala while Mark and Bill unload at the site, that way we can leave right when they get back. Plus, we don't want to risk the chance of all of us getting caught. That's more likely to happen if we're all in the same place at once." He had purposely omitted the part about not wanting to leave Dean alone, unprotected. But Dean probably already knew that anyway.

"Yeah, okay," Dean agreed, pushing to his feet. "Let's go get some more bodies."

The system actually worked out pretty well. Mark and Bill returned after about twenty minutes, and Sam and Rich headed out as soon as Mark had briefed them on the details.

"It's really dark," he had explained, "so be careful with how much light you guys use. Dead quiet too," he added, "super creepy, right Bill?" Mark couldn't seem to get enough of torturing the poor guy. "Anyway, just be careful, alright? Two more trips and we should be done."

It took Sam a little longer to return, probably because he was more cautious than Mark, and Rich was more skittish than Bill. Mark was out the door as soon as Sam came back, anxious to finish up with the plan.

"How was it?" Dean asked his brother.

Sam shrugged. "Nothing I haven't done before, though it does feel a bit weird _burying_ the bodies instead of digging them up."

"Ha. I bet. So there's only a few more things to bring up, and then we should be set. But Mark said he wants to do some sort of cleansing ritual in the passageway just to make sure."

"When's he going to do that?"

"I think he said he'll do it while you guys are taking the last set of artifacts to the burial ground. I guess the only requirement is that none of the bodies can be in the library at the time of the ritual, so this way he can cleanse the place and then we can get the hell out of here as soon as you guys get back."

"Okay, sounds good. We've been lucky so far, I just hope we can pull this off. Then tomorrow we can strategize about who could be doing this and how we can end it for good."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, already heading down towards the basement. He and Sam brought the rest of the bodies up while Rich remained at the top of the library. Sam figured the experience had been pretty disturbing to the man and he let him rest before preparing to head out again.

When Mark returned for the second time, he and Sam discussed a few more of the logistics; Mark told Sam more details about the cleansing ritual, and Sam and Rich headed out one last time.

"Do you want me to do the ritual with you?" Dean asked, wearily pulling himself out of the chair he had slumped in.

Mark shook his head. "I can be the only one down there. You stay up here, keep an eye on my pal Bill," he instructed. "Maybe you should sit down," he added after studying Dean for a minute. Mark slipped a quick hand onto Dean's forehead, shocked at how hot it was to the touch. "Jesus, Dean! You said you'd let us know if it got bad."

Dean sat back down, resting his head on the table. "I'm not any worse," he defended himself meekly. He peered up at Mark, hoping the older hunter would let it go. "Can we just finish this?"

Mark hesitated a minute before finally relenting. "Okay, but then you're going straight to bed. No arguments."

Dean shrugged. He'd been planning on doing that all along. "Fine."

Mark nodded. "Bill!" he shouted, trying to locate the anthropology professor. Bill stuck his head out from one of the aisles. "Get over here. I need you two to stay here until I'm done."

"What the hell does it matter if I stay with him or not?" Bill asked angrily, motioning to Dean. "For all I know he has the bubonic plague. I'd rather not get sick."

"For someone who's supposed to be smart, you're a total idiot," Mark told him. "I'll only be ten minutes or so, and I don't want to risk you getting hurt while I do this." Though at this point, his concern for Bill's well-being was dwindling.

"Fine," Bill grumbled, pulling over a chair.

Satisfied that Bill was going to do what he asked, Mark headed back down the stairs to the chamber.

Dean stayed quiet; his head was aching and his throat was dry and painful. Plus, he didn't much feel like talking to the jackass who was currently seated across from him. Luckily, Bill seemed to share his sentiments.

But even as he tried to look anywhere but at the professor, Dean found his eyes continually drifting back to Bill, unable to shake off the feeling that something wasn't right. His eyes kept focusing on a metal ring on Bill's left hand, and the symbol on it that seemed so damn familiar. And then it hit him.

"You're an Esopus," Dean whispered painfully, the dryness in his throat not allowing his voice to reach much higher than a whisper. Bill swung beady black eyes onto Dean and his body stiffened.

"What did you say?"

"You're not a Hugeunot," Dean said this time. "Your ring. I've seen that symbol before. It's Heka." Dean kept talking. He knew he should shut up; hell, he knew he should be downright terrified, but he just kept feeding his own curiosity.

Bill looked furious. "You _hunters_," he growled, the latter word said with such disdain it made Dean shiver. Or maybe that was the sudden drop in temperature that seemed to encompass the entire first floor of the library. "You should have just left this alone. This is _our_ town," Bill was on his feet now, and the room dropped a few more degrees. Dean shivered – he couldn't help it – and his teeth chattered together. He knew he was helpless here. He was screwed. "I was just taking back what was rightfully ours."

Bill twisted the ring on his finger, and a faint glow seemed to emanate from the silver. The floors started shaking, the tables and chairs rattling loudly.

"Why...did...you...kill them?" Dean stuttered, wrapping his arms around himself to try and stay warm. "Why even move the bodies in the first place?"

Bill didn't answer, apparently more concerned with destroying the library and everything inside. He raised his arms and the floor shook with an even greater ferocity. Dean heard glass shattering from windows breaking as the lights flickered on and off. _This was so not good_. "I needed to make sure I knew where they were takingthe bodies so that I could get them back later. I killed them for violating the sacredness of my people. I"m going to kill you too," Bill growled. "And that brother of yours and the idiot Richard," he added, chuckling slightly. "And _especially_ that jackass Mark," he added. Dean _almost_ laughed at that last part. Mark had clearly pissed the guy off to the extreme. "That's what you get for trying to help out good-for-nothing thieves," Bill said, as if that truly explained everything. "Lie down with dogs...you know the rest."

Apparently that was all that Bill intended to say. In one last swell of power, Dean was thrown from his chair, landing hard at the base of a table. He was immediately hit with an onslaught of books, and he threw his hands up over his head to try and protect himself. Dean lifted his head when the attack seemed to slow, and he looked up, relieved to see he was right. Dean stood up, desperate to get away from Bill, to get to Mark and make sure his friend was okay.

He didn't see Bill anywhere and made a beeline towards the basement door. Two steps from reaching his destination, Dean paused, hearing what sounded like a table screeching across the floor. He looked back to see exactly that. And it was coming right at him. Dean had less than a millisecond to react, but he managed to turn away from the hurtling object, receiving only a glancing blow to the left side of his back. Still, the pain was unreal.

Dean fought the pull of unconsciousness, but between the pain from his injuries and the exhaustion from his illness, it was a losing battle. He closed his eyes, vaguely registering the sound of Mark yelling from the basement, his footsteps getting louder as he sprinted up the stairs. Dean wanted to warn him to stay back, to save himself, but his body refused to allow him that courtesy. His last thought before blissful unconsciousness pulled him under was _Sam's going to be _so_ pissed_.

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><p><em>That chapter wasn't supposed to be so long. And I was supposed to go to bed before 4 AM. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that chapter! Please review :)<em>


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Soooo it's been awhile. Sorry for the delay! But this chapter is super long, so hopefully that makes up for it? Hopefully it all makes sense too, because it's been awhile and I don't entirely remember where I was taking this plot. Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews and for sticking with me and my story. I apologize for any mistakes, but it was very late at night when I was proofreading this. Please let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!

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><p>Sam had a bad feeling. It wasn't a vision, but it was unsettling nonetheless and it made him hasten his steps, anxious to get back to the library, to make sure everything was okay. He finished piling dirt on the last makeshift grave, did one last quick scan around the fields, and hurried back to the Impala where Richard awaited him.<p>

"Are we done?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, think so. Let's get out of here."

The night was still very dark and Sam could see the lights flickering on and off in the library before they had even pulled into the parking lot. _"Shit!"_ he shouted, throwing the car into park and jumping out. He didn't even look back to see if Richard was following, too concerned with the well-beings of the three men trapped inside.

Sam bounded up the library steps, his long legs allowing him to reach the doors in seconds, but when he pulled back on them, they didn't move an inch. Sam pounded his fist hard against the glass, frustrated. He could hear the screeching of furniture being dragged across the floor and the thundering booms when it crashed against the walls. But the most frightening sound by far was his sick, stubborn brother's cry of pain. "Dean!" Sam yelled, pounding his fists again, adding a few hard kicks for good measure. "DEAN!"

And then everything was silent. The lights stopped flickering, and Sam stumbled backwards as the doors swung open. Richard was by his side now, understandably terrified. "What's going on?" he asked apprehensively.

Sam shook his head, not having an answer. "No idea, but I need to check on my brother." He left Richard behind again and hurried into the now-pitch-dark library. The faint glow of a flashlight revealed the extensive damage done to the room, and Sam looked back to see Holgrum holding out the light for Sam to take. Sam took it gratefully, quickly using it to scan the room, seeing the broken chairs and tables. Glass crunched underfoot from windows and lights that had shattered. _But where was his brother?_

Sam paused, holding out a hand indicating for Richard to stop too. He had definitely heard something. "Hello?" Sam shouted, waiting for a response. "Dean?" He heard it again, the pounding of someone's fist against wood. And he faintly heard Mark's insistent voice calling out. _The basement_, Sam thought, running around the corner to where the door was located.

A large oak table blocked the door, but what really got Sam's attention was the lifeless form sprawled across the floor, just to the side of the basement door. Sam ran to his brother's side, immediately putting two fingers to his carotid, relieved when he felt the steady – albeit fast – pulse against his fingers. _"Oh thank God,"_ he murmured.

"Sam! Is that you?" Mark's voice was so close, just on the other side of the door.

"Yeah, Mark, hang on one second, there's a table blocking the door." Sam motioned for Richard to help him, and the two moved the heavy piece of furniture to the side. Mark was through the door a second later, kneeling by Dean's side a second after that. Sam quickly joined him, searching for any hidden injuries, anything to indicate why Dean was unconscious.

"What's wrong with him?" Sam asked anxiously, knowing Mark probably knew about as much as he did.

Mark was pressing lightly on Dean's stomach, testing for rigidity or tenderness but finding none. "Let's check his back," Mark said quietly, not even wanting to entertain the possibility that Dean had suffered a spinal injury.

Sam nodded wordlessly, supporting Dean's head and neck while Mark gently log-rolled him up against his own knees. He palpated Dean's spinal column, letting out a sigh of relief when he didn't find any deformities. Dean groaned softly and Mark pulled his hand back as if it had been burned. "Dean, can you hear me?" Mark asked.

Dean groaned again, and Sam and Mark rolled him back so he was lying flat again. His eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus on his brother's face. "That hurt," he mumbled, annoyed.

"What hurt, Dean?" Sam asked, trying to keep his brother with him. Dean vaguely motioned to his back, and Sam exchanged a terrified look with Mark.

"Your back hurts?" Mark asked gently. "Did you get hit in the back, Dean?"

Dean shook his head. "No." He seemed to become more aware and motioned to his side. "Not my back. My side. Fucking table." Dean rolled so he was on his right side, taking the pressure off the site where the table had hit. "'M'okay, Sam. Help me up."

Sam supported his brother and with Mark's help he got Dean into a seated position, leaning him back against the basement door. "Where is he?" Dean asked, beginning to remember what had happened.

Mark looked around, immediately noticing Bill's absence. "Bill?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, the bastard. This is all his doing." Dean winced, his sore throat reminding him he was still sick. He barked out a cough, immediately grabbing at his side as it pulsated with pain. "Fuck," he mumbled pathetically. Everything hurt.

"Bill did this?" Sam asked, suddenly pissed.

"Yeah. He's an Esopus descendant," Dean explained, trying to stand up even while Sam fought to keep him sitting. "We need to find him."

"Hold up," Mark ordered, assisting Sam in the effort to halt Dean's movements. "We don't even know where Bill is. I'm fairly certain he's no longer in the library, though, or he probably would have finished us off. So just take a breather, Dean."

Dean shook his head again. "No. You don't understand. He's angry and now that I know it's him, he's got nothing to lose. It's too dangerous."

"Dammit," Sam muttered. "Mark, did you finish the cleansing spell?"

"I was one word away," he said bitterly. "Fucking perfect timing. Alright then, looks like we need to find him soon."

Sam had almost forgotten Richard was there until he spoke up. "I think I know where he may be." He looked shell-shocked, but Sam assumed that was probably the normal reaction when someone found out his partner-in-crime was actually working against him.

"You heard the man," Dean said with more conviction than he felt. "Now help me up."

By the time they made it outside, to the cars, Dean was drenched in sweat, nauseous from the pain in his side. He didn't even protest when Sam deposited him in the passenger side of the Impala.

Sam helped Dean get his legs into the car, then turned back to Mark. "If we can finish this tonight, I say we do it. I don't want to give Bill even one more opportunity to take us out."

Mark agreed quickly, then turned to Rich. "So where can we find this son of a bitch?"

* * *

><p>Dean was curled up against the passenger door, trying to keep any pressure off his left side. The window was fogging up from his short gasps of breath, and Sam could hear sharp hisses of pain whenever Dean breathed too deeply. "Don't worry, bro. This'll be over soon. Then you can sleep for a week."<p>

"Goo...od," Dean mumbled back, shivering. They drove in silence after that, Sam recognizing Dean's need to concentrate on keeping the pain at bay. Mark's car turned off into the campus parking lot, and Sam supposed he wasn't exactly surprised that this was where Bill would go. This was where he worked, what he knew best. Not to mention the Anthropology department probably had a wealth of useful implements that crazed psycho-killers could get their hands on.

The college looked eerie in the dim glow from the moon. It also seemed utterly deserted, and Sam figured that was a good thing if the state of the library was any indication for how things could go bad.

Sam pulled up beside Mark, rolling down his window. "So you think he's in there?" He asked, motioning to the college.

"That's what Rich thinks. It's worth a try – I don't have any better ideas."

"True. Is there some sort of spell or something? How do we stop Bill from turning the evil spirits onto us?"

"He must have the wand. That's the only way he could be doing this. And if that's the case, we need to get it back. Then any control he has over the spirits will be destroyed."

"And what will happen to Bill?"

Mark hesitated for a millisecond, and Sam could see the answer in his face. "We'll try our best to save him, Sam," he said unconvincingly. "But I'm not going to risk any more lives trying to save a miserable scumbag like Bill."

Sam nodded. He couldn't really disagree; Bill clearly had little regard for the safety of others. And if Bill had also caused the previous town disasters – including the one at the harvest festival – Sam really couldn't care less if the man survived. Not that he'd ever vocalize that opinion.

Mark looked at his watch, squinting in the darkness to make out the numbers. "It's almost two am. We better get a move on if we want to make sure everything's done and cleaned up by dawn." He looked at Dean who was now standing semi-straight but bracing himself slightly against the car door. "You gonna make it?" he asked him jokingly, but the question held a hint of sincerity. Dean didn't look good at all.

Dean smiled weakly, choosing not to BS them with false reassurances. "Honestly? I'll feel a thousand times better when we catch this a-hole."

Mark nodded. "I hear ya. I've got the spells right here," he told them, holding out a small pamphlet-like book, "and here," Mark added, pointing to his head. "Take the book," he said, handing it over to Dean. "In case I'm incapacitated and you guys need to finish the ritual without me."

Dean slipped the book into one of the duffel bags and slung it over his right shoulder, wincing as that aggravated the stitch in his side.

"Stay close and watch out for thrown objects," Mark instructed, looking specifically at Dean. "I think you've taken enough hits for the night."

Dean smirked, "You're telling me."

"Alright, let's get going. Richard, make sure to stick with me. Sam, Dean – watch your backs."

Richard seemed less nervous than before, perhaps finally able to accept the situation. Or maybe he was feeling guilty for the role he played in causing the whole mess. Whatever the reason, he appeared more willing to partake in this latest scheme than he had the previous one. Perhaps he was just as angry at Bill's betrayal as the three hunters were. "I know this building better than almost anyone in the college. Follow me."

They hadn't gotten too far before Sam heard the most unwelcome noise in the world: the warning whine of a cop car. _Shit_. Sam went to the window, immediately recognizing Sheriff Maxwell. And the sheriff seemed pissed. But at least he was alone. "Hey," Sam called out, his voice barely above a whisper. Even so, he got everyone's attention immediately, and he pointed towards the window. Dean and Mark both added their own colorful language, recognizing the threat that the sheriff's presence posed. Not only could he toss them in jail for trespassing, he was one more civilian who could be injured or killed by Bill's vengeance.

"The Anthropology department is on the second floor, just past the main lobby," Richard said hurriedly, already beginning to retreat back towards the entrance. "There's a display case running the length of the hallway, and it has some of the Esopus artifacts in it. There's other stuff in there too, but I never really took the time to study it. Bill's office is at the end of that hallway."

"Whoa, where are you going?" Dean asked, thinking for a brief second that Richard was bailing on them.

"Maxwell and I are poker buddies," he explained. "Don't worry, he won't bother you guys. But I probably won't be able to sneak back in here, if that's alright."

Dean found himself grinning at this turn of good luck. "Yeah that's alright, man."

Sam seemed more hesitant, though. "Be careful, okay? We don't even know for sure that Bill is in here. And if he's not, then there's a very good chance he could cause harm to you. After all, you're the last of the body snatchers, right?"

Richard nodded, mulling over the situation. "I won't leave the parking lot. And I have your cell numbers, just in case something goes wrong. I'll be right outside."

Sam quickly glanced at Dean before pulling out the keys to the Impala. "Here, stay in the car. If anything happens, get somewhere safe."

"Sam!" Dean started to protest, but Sam cut him off.

"Just be careful with her. He's very protective," Sam said, motioning to his brother. A quick glance out the window showed Sheriff Maxwell approaching the college doors, and Sam pushed the keys into Richard's hands.

"Good luck. And be careful," Richard said sincerely, taking the keys and hurrying down the corridor. Sam watched from the window as Rich intercepted the sheriff, leading him back away from the building. He breathed a sigh of relief that the latest threat had been temporarily dealt with.

"Alright, let's continue," Mark instructed. "Stay low and stay quiet. We probably only have one shot at this. Let's not blow it."

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><p>Richard's directions, though brief, were spot-on. They reached the Anthropology corridor in no time and with no interruption by a certain stubborn sheriff. Mark held up his hand – both to silence and halt the boys – when they reached Professor Bill Watson's door.<p>

"Do we just...go in?" Dean asked after a beat.

"He might not even be in there," Sam pointed out.

Mark didn't answer, but gripped his gun and motioned for Sam to move to the other side of the door, then waved his hand so they would follow him in.

The office was dark, but Bill's face was illuminated by the faint orangey-glow from the moon. He sat eerily still, the look on his face oddly passive and distinctly disturbing. Bill didn't move an inch when the hunters entered, and Mark kept his gun trained on the man. "Where's the wand, Bill?"

Bill smiled and crossed his hands in front of him. "Some place safe. Away from hunters like you."

"It can't be too far," Sam spoke up. "You didn't have much time to hide it after your little stunt at the library." Sam said angrily, looking over at his brother who was hunched slightly, cradling his left side again.

Bill smiled again. "Unfortunately, it appears that the spirits didn't manage to take you out for good," he said to Dean. "No worries, none of you will survive my final act."

Dean glanced nervously at Sam, looking behind him, getting an uneasy vibe that there was someone else here. Whether or not it was the angry spirit of a long-dead Indian chief, he couldn't tell.

"You won't get away with this, Bill. If you know anything about the Esopus, then you know what happened to Chief Papequanaehen. The spirits don't react well when you abuse their power."

Bill grinned evilly. "Yeah well, if that were the case I would have been killed back in 1973 following the Harvest Festival disaster." He shook his head, thinking. "No, I'm stronger than Papequanaehen was. I know more than him. There's no stopping me."

Sam knew that kind of arrogance usually got one killed, but it was also an exceedingly dangerous quality in an adversary.

"Not this time," Mark said confidently, and he began to recite one of the spells he had given to Dean and which he apparently had memorized. The furniture began to shake, and Dean found himself bracing for another barrage. Bill was unfazed throughout all of it, grinning widely as Mark continued the ritual. The shaking increased, the rattling of the furniture resounding in the confines of the office, creating a deafening cacophony.

Mark completed the spell just as the glass in the room shattered, showering the hunters with tiny razor-sharp pieces. And yet Bill still sat there, smiling.

"Why isn't it working?" Sam whispered.

"Because I'm the one controlling it," a voice said behind Sam. He turned slowly, recognizing the sultry voice of the library aide. _Emily_. "And I protected it." Emily was holding the wand out in front of her, eyes alight. "How else do you think I knew so much about the history, Sammy?" Sam took a tentative step forward. "Uh-uh-uh," she warned. "Stay back."

Sam held his hands in front of him in a placating gesture. "Emily, think about what you're doing. This is crazy."

"_Is it_? When I was younger, my father and I were forced off our land – land that had been passed down for centuries. We lost our home and he lost his way of living, all because the town decided it had the right to do that." She laughed, and Sam was certain she was insane. "And yet _this_ is crazy."

"_This_ is murder, Emily. It's wrong that they took your land, but killing innocent people won't change anything."

"Yeah, _innocent," _Emily huffed sarcastically. "My father died last year. He turned to alcohol when he lost his land. They drove him to that, and I had to watch as my father slowly killed himself. So quit lecturing me about right and wrong. As far as I'm concerned, they're all murderers."

Dean watched on, feeling slightly woozy. "So what's your connection with Bill, sweetheart?"

Emily glared at him, clearly unimpressed with the nickname. She smiled at Bill. "I couldn't have done any of this without him. Isn't that right, Sweetie?"

Dean shot Sam a confused look. "Wait, what? _Seriously_?" he asked, as she planted a long kiss on Bill's mouth. "Gross," he mumbled.

"Bill here saved me. After my father's death, I was lost. He showed me the way. He showed me how to get revenge."

"Of course he did," Dean mumbled. "Great role model you are."

Bill seemed nervous, shifting slightly in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. About what, Sam wasn't sure.

"Bill here is the perfect tutor. He gave me everything I needed to know about Heka. You see, his father was the one who orchestrated the whole Harvest Festival disaster."

"But I thought..." Mark trailed off.

"You thought that Billy here did it, right? Nope, he's too much of a coward. Lets others do his bidding for him. Isn't that right, Bill?"

Sam knew what the look on Bill's face was now. It was fear. He had created a killer and he had no idea how to stop her. His bravado before had just been a front. He was scared to death.

Emily took Bill's face in her hands and he stiffened against his chair. "I trusted you," she whispered, her breath hot against his cheek. "And you stabbed me in the back."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, trying to pull her anger from Bill, and strangely feeling the need to defend the guy who had just tried to kill him. "He's _clearly_ on your side. He tried to kill me not an hour ago. He's _still_ trying to kill us."

Emily had cocked her head towards Dean, but kept her grip firm on Bill's chin. "Don't be stupid," she said with disgust. "He was _helping_ you. I saw."

Dean tried again, not sure why he cared. "Yeah, and then he turned on us and threw a fucking table at me."

Emily rolled her eyes. "He wasn't going to kill you. He only did that because he knew I was watching." She turned back to Bill again, and Sam felt the room grow colder. "I'm always watching. And I know better. You were trying to stop me, weren't you?"

"I...I," Bill stuttered – the first time Sam had seen him show weakness. "You've killed so many people, Em. _Good_ people."

Emily stood up. "Good people!" she shouted. Thunder sounded outside, the beginnings of a storm. "They took our land, killed our people. And you're _defending_ them," Emily continued, disgusted. The energy in the room was picking up again, and Sam was bracing for another onslaught.

Bill held his hands in front of his face, realizing that Emily was no longer on his side. "That's not true, sweetie. I'm – "

A sickening crack echoed through the room, and Dean looked on in horror as Bill slumped to the ground, dead. Emily had broken his neck without even breaking a sweat and with no warning whatsoever. The bitch was powerful and crazy. And that was a lethal combination.

Emily turned back to the hunters, challenging them to take her on. Mark didn't seem fazed, taking a step forward, his gun raised. "You _really_ shouldn't have done that," he told her seriously.

Emily smirked. "Why, what do you think _you're_ going to do? Shoot me with your little gun? You won't get the chance."

Sam took a step forward, nervous about Mark's apparent death wish. He saw Dean do the same out of the corner of his eye.

"_I'm_ not going to do anything," Mark told her, becoming more confident. The lights started flickering again, the energy in the room picking up. Emily's cocksure smile started to fade, replaced by a look of uncertainty.

"What's going on?" she asked angrily, holding up the wand.

"What? Your mentor never told you the consequences of killing another Esopus?"

The temperature in the room dropped another degree, and Sam took a step towards Dean, seeing his brother waver. The room started to shake again, and Sam caught his brother just as he started to go down. "You okay, Dean?"

Dean put a hand to his head, shaking it slightly. "Yeah, just dizzy," he muttered, annoyed at himself. Sam helped him to a chair, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder even when he was seated. He didn't know what was going on right now, but he knew he couldn't leave his brother's side.

"No, no this can't be happening!" Emily shouted, looking at some unseen enemy. "Stay back!"

"Who's she talking to?" Dean whispered, unable to see what was causing the young woman's distress. Sam shrugged, unsure himself.

"I control you!" she yelled one last time, but it was futile. Emily began to seize, blood bubbling up from her mouth as she collapsed to the ground, overtaken by an invisible force. Mark went to her side, no longer afraid of whatever power she possessed and apparently holding good to his promise to try and save the perpetrator. He caught Emily as she fell, lowering her to the ground.

"What do you see?" he asked, trying to get her to focus. "Who's doing this?"

Emily focused her eyes on Mark's for a brief second. "Sc...screw...you," she choked out, coughing blood and taking one last breath before going limp in Mark's arms, dead.

The second Emily stopped breathing, everything in the room stilled. The chill in the air that had become so pervasive immediately dissipated, replaced my a sticky humidity from the lingering rain storm. Sam let go of his brother's shoulder, going over to Mark's side.

"What _was_ that?" he asked, looking down at the lifeless form of the pretty coed.

"Revenge," he said simply, laying Emily down. "She killed an Esopus using the power from the wand. No protection spell on earth would have saved her. What, exactly, killed her, I have no idea. But I don't think we're in any danger. And now that we have the wand, I have a simple spell that will break its power for any person – Esopus _or_ Huguenot who possesses it."

Sam nodded. "Okay, good. But we should probably clean all this up first, before Sheriff Maxwell decides to see what all the commotion was about." Sam looked back towards Dean, anxious to make sure his brother was okay. He still sat in the chair Sam had left him in, but he looked pale and slightly dazed. "Dean," Sam said loudly, getting his brother's attention. Dean raised his eyes to look at his brother.

"I'm okay, Sam," he reassured him. "Just tired and sore. Let's finish this up and get out of here."

They made quick work of cleaning Watson's office, choosing to leave the bodies where they lay. The sheriff would have a hell of a time trying to figure out how the deaths had occurred, but at least nothing could point back to the hunters' involvement.

Dawn was just starting to break as the hunters snuck out a back door to the university. A quick and covert look at the front parking lot revealed that Sheriff Maxwell and Richard Holgrum had left. Sam pulled out his phone, quickly dialing Holgrum's number. The dean sounded tired when he picked up but immediately became alert when he realized it was Sam.

"Is it over?" he asked anxiously.

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, we think so. Bill's dead. And Emily."

"Who?"

"I'll explain later. I thought we told you to stay in the parking lot."

Richard sighed. "I tried, but Maxwell insisted on driving me home. I didn't want to make him suspicious, so we left right when the storm started. Your keys are under the front tire on the driver's side."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. _So the sheriff hadn't heard them_. "Okay, good. As long as you're safe. We're heading back to the bed & breakfast now, but I'll give you a call later to explain everything. Thanks for running interference for us back there."

"Of course, but I should be thanking the three of you. Without your help, I'd be dead."

Sam nodded. "Don't mention it. It's kind of our job. I'll talk to you later." He hung up the phone and looked over at Dean and Mark. His brother was leaning heavily against the older hunter, not even trying to mask his exhaustion. "I think we're in the clear. Should we do the ritual now?" Sam asked reluctantly, knowing Dean really needed to sleep.

Mark looked just as tired as Sam felt, and shook his head wearily. "I think you boys could use some rest. I sure know I could. Besides, it's probably best we do the spell under cover of darkness. I'll hold onto the wand now – I think everything should be fine." Dean pushed off of Mark, wobbling slightly as he made his way to the Impala. Mark followed close by, making sure he didn't fall. "Get some sleep, kid. You look like shit."

Dean nodded, climbing into the passenger seat. "You too."

Mark walked over to Sam after Dean had closed his door. "He looks worse than before. Make sure he gets to bed when you guys get back. And make sure he's not hiding any other injuries from the library." He looked at his watch. "It's almost six now. I'll stop by your place around four in the evening and I'll get everything ready. Should be a simple spell, but I'll double check it just to make sure."

Sam nodded his thanks. "Okay, I'll see you in a little while."

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><p>"Leave me alone, Sam," Dean repeated for what had to be the fifth time since they'd returned to the bed and breakfast. "Just wanna sleep."<p>

Sam sighed heavily. "Are you sure you're okay? You were unconscious when we found you."

"And I've been conscious for the last six freaking hours. My throat hurts, my side hurts, and my freaking shoulder hurts. Nothing new."

"When did you hurt your shoulder?"

"Oh for...probably when Bill hurled a freaking table at me."

"_Fine_," Sam grumbled, climbing into his own bed. "I'm just worried about you."

Dean sighed. "I know, I'm sorry. But I'm tired and sick and can barely keep my eyes open. I just want to sleep," he repeated.

"Okay, okay. I'll wake you up in a few hours."

Dean mumbled something unintelligible, wrapping his arms around a pillow and curling up on his right side. "G'night."

Dean drifted off quickly, his breaths evening out almost immediately. Sam, however, found it much harder to sleep, the events of the case haunting his dreams, along with the look on Emily's face just before she died. He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that she was the killer. She was _so_ young and had seemed so nice when he'd met her. Showed you could never really tell what was going on in someone's head.

Sam was eventually able to doze off for a few hours, waking around two in the afternoon. He sat up slowly, glancing over at his brother. Dean was still on his right side, back to Sam. Sam got up quietly and headed to the bathroom to shower before waking up his brother.

The hot water felt like heaven on his knotted muscles, and Sam let himself relax for the first time since they arrived in New Paltz. One more ritual and then they were done with this case and could actually rest for a little while. Give Dean some time to get over this illness and the new bruises from last night. Sam stood under the steady stream for a few minutes before turning off the water and climbing out, quickly toweling dry and changing into a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

Dean was still lying in the same position he'd been in when Sam had gone into the bathroom, but as Sam approached his bed, he could hear short, gasping breaths. "Dean," Sam said urgently, placing a hand on his brother's bare arm, shocked at the coldness of the extremity. If possible, Dean's skin was even paler than it had been earlier, and he didn't rouse when Sam made contact. "Dean wake the _fuck_ up," Sam said more loudly, shaking his brother gently, then more vigorously as Dean failed to respond.

Sam grabbed his brother's wrist, checking for – and failing to find – a radial pulse. "Fuck, fuck fuck," Sam murmured, immediately recognizing the signs of shock. A check at Dean's carotid revealed a weak and rapid pulse. "Wake up, man. Come on," Sam pleaded, making one more futile attempt to rouse his brother. He pulled out his cell phone, quickly finding the number he was looking for.

Mark picked up on the first ring, but Sam cut him off before he could answer. "Mark, get over here now!" Sam had the phone held between his shoulder and his ear, laying his brother flat on the bed and gathering pillows to raise his feet.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Mark asked, and Sam could hear that he was moving, already out the door and in the hallway.

Sam didn't answer right away, still trying to get his brother to wake the fuck up. "He's in shock, Mark. Dean's in shock and I don't know why. I...I think he's dying."

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for all your reviews. I'm glad you're still with me on this; I know it's longer than I anticipated and I'm so happy you've stuck with me. So I thought this would be the last chapter, but it looks like I've got one more. Oh one more thing – I had said in chapter one that Mark and Dean hunted a case in Syracuse, but I changed that to Massachusetts now. I need to go back and fix that in chapter one, but for any of you who have fantastic memories, I didn't want you to be confused. Thanks again for reading and I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Sam went to the door and unlocked it, quickly returning to his brother's side. Dean started shifting around just as Sam was trying to place his legs on top of the pile of pillows he had made. He kicked his feet weakly, moaning incomprehensible words. Sam immediately let go of Dean's legs and went to his brother's side. He put a hand on Dean's forehead, shocked at how cold and clammy his brother was to the touch.<p>

**"**Dean, can you hear me?" he asked anxiously.

Dean weakly pushed at Sam's hand, moving his head side to side. "...off me," he whispered, cracking his eyes open. "Sam?" he asked after a second, taking a moment to register his brother's face. He seemed confused, and that only made Sam more worried. "So...cold," he shivered.

Sam grabbed the comforter and sheets from his own bed and layered them on top of Dean. "I know, Dean. Is that better?" Dean didn't answer, his eyes sliding shut again. "Hey, hey stay with me, man. Can you tell me where it hurts?"

It looked like it took great effort, but Dean managed to focus his eyes on Sam's again. "Shoulder," he mumbled, bringing his hand up to touch his left shoulder.

Sam moved Dean's hand, pulling his brother's shirt down to check the area. But there was nothing there – no signs of trauma or injury; nothing to explain why his brother appeared to be going into hypovolemic shock. Sam pulled the bottom of Dean's shirt up to check his side, where the table had hit, finding a small bruise and abrasion but no signs of significant bleeding.

Sam pressed gently on the bruise, and Dean reacted immediately and violently, curling in around his injured side. "Jesus Sam, what the fuck?" Dean hissed, much more alert now and in obvious pain. Sam crouched in front of his brother, trying to keep him from rolling off the bed. Mark barged into the room a second later, not even bothering to knock.

"Ambulance is on the way," he announced, hurrying to Sam's side to help him keep Dean from rolling off the bed. "What happened?"

Dean clenched his eyes together tightly, taking in tiny sips of air, unable to respond to Mark's question. "It's gotta be internal bleeding," Sam said, looking at Mark. "His left side is tender and there's some bruising."

"Feels…like," Dean gasped, "'m being stabbed." He had his hand over the wounded area, preventing Mark from getting a good look.

"Let me see, Dean," Mark said gently, moving Dean's hands away. Mark pressed gently on the area, and even that light touch elicited a cry of pain from Dean.

"Stop…" he pleaded pathetically.

"Okay, you're okay," Mark calmed, helping Dean roll onto his back. He turned and nodded grimly at Sam, agreeing with the diagnosis of internal bleeding.

"Sam," Dean mumbled, trying to push himself up into a seated position again. Sam tried to keep him lying down, but Dean pushed weakly against his hands. "Feel dizzy."

"That's because your blood pressure is too low, Dean. You need to lie down."

"No," Dean drawled. He closed his eyes again, trying to take deep, steadying breaths. "Gonna be sick," he told Sam urgently, clasping a hand over his mouth, panicked eyes flying open.

"Okay, I got you," Sam looked around for a trashcan, but Mark was already handing him one. He helped Dean lean over it as his brother coughed and sputtered, emptying his stomach of what little there was left in it. Mark took the can once Dean was finished, and Sam helped his brother lie back against the bed. Blood coated Dean's lips, stark against his pale skin.

"Where the hell is that ambulance?" Mark muttered. He quickly went to the bathroom and wet a towel, handing it to Sam. Sam wiped the blood away from Dean's lips, terrified that his brother didn't even protest the intrusion.

A minute later, the faint whine of the sirens sounded outside the room, and it was the most welcome sound Sam had ever heard. Mark went to the door, preparing to open it so the paramedics would see him. He paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Do you guys have insurance?" he asked as an afterthought.

Sam hadn't even considered that, but luckily they had just gotten new insurance cards from Bobby. "Yeah, we're good. Dean and Sam Wilson."

Mark nodded. "Okay good. I'm going to go let the paramedics know where we are." He hurried outside, leaving the door wide open.

"Sam?" Dean called out.

"I'm here, Dean," Sam answered, placing a hand on Dean's forehead.

"You and Mark…finish the ritual."

"Emily and Bill are dead, Dean. It's over."

Dean shook his head, teeth chattering. "P…promise. Need to make sure." He coughed weakly, flecks of blood coating his lips and teeth.

Sam nodded. "Yeah okay, Dean. I promise." He looked up to see Mark racing back into the room, two paramedics following closely behind.

The medics wasted no time once they got into the room, hurrying to Dean's side, listening to his lungs and taking his pulse. Whatever they found, it couldn't have been good. They talked in hushed urgency, expressions serious.

Dean was out of it again, unable to answer any of the paramedics' questions. The younger-looking paramedic, Ed, turned to Sam while his partner continued to take vitals and assess Dean. "Was he injured recently? When did you notice the symptoms?"

Sam had to pull his attention away from his brother in order to process the questions. "He – he fell. Last night. I think he hit his side on a table. He said he was fine," Sam added quietly. "I didn't know…"

Ed realized he didn't have Sam's full attention and moved to get into his line of sight. "Sir," he began.

"Sam." Sam filled in. "I'm his brother."

Ed nodded. "Okay, good. I know you're worried, but I need you to help me out here. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

Sam shook his head slightly, then paused. "He's been sick the last few days. Fever, sore throat. Of course he keeps denying it…" Sam trailed off again.

"Okay, that's good to know, Sam. Does he have any allergies or any past medical problems?"

Sam shook his head in the negative, choosing to leave out the electrocution and car crash from the previous year.

"Ed?" Sean, the other paramedic, had finished examining Dean and inserting an IV. He spoke to Ed quietly, but Sam could still hear every word. "We should get a move on. His systolic is 82 and he's tachycardic. Slight rigidity over his left side. Could be a ruptured spleen. Kid needs to get to a hospital now."

Mark had placed a steady hand on Sam's back, but even that couldn't comfort him as he watched the medics package up his brother. Dean was moaning again, becoming slightly combative as they tried to strap him into the stretcher, unwilling to be tied down. Sam went to his brother's side, taking a hold of one of his flailing arms.

"Hey Dean, calm down. They're just trying to help you."

Dean opened his eyes again to look at Sam. "Sam? What's going on?"

Sam looked at Ed. "Why does he seem so confused?"

"His blood pressure is dropping – it can lead to disorientation and confusion."

"Dean, Mark and I will be right behind you, okay?" Dean didn't answer, but his hand went limp in Sam's grasp.

"We really need to go," Ed told Sam apologetically. "We're taking him to St. Luke's. It's right down the road, you can't miss it."

Sam nodded, following the medics out. Mark was already in the car, ready to leave the second the paramedics had gotten the stretcher in the rig. Sam climbed into Mark's car. "St. Luke's."

Mark nodded but didn't say anything, pulling out after the ambulance.

They arrived at the hospital less than three minutes later, driving only slightly above the speed limit. The medics hadn't run the lights and siren, but they still reached the hospital well enough ahead of Mark and Sam that they were already rushing Dean into the hospital by the time the two hunters had pulled into the ambulance bay. Sam jumped out while Mark pulled the car around to find parking.

Sam just caught a glimpse of Dean as they rolled him away, his pale arm hanging limply over the side of the stretcher and looking almost as white as the sheet that he laid on. Sam tried to follow after them, but was stopped by a sympathetic-looking but no-nonsense nurse. "You can't follow them, Sweetie," she told him gently, and Sam didn't know why but the tone of her voice almost made him cry. "They need room to work, but I'll get an update from them as soon as possible, okay?"

Sam nodded but didn't move, feeling suddenly exhausted. The nurse led him to the waiting room and he sat down heavily, dropping his head into his hands. Mark came in a few minutes later, sitting next to Sam but not bothering him with empty reassurances. The two sat quietly for some time, until Sam broke the silence, turning to look at Mark.

"What happened last time?"

Mark took a second before he realized what Sam was referring to. "You mean the last time I hunted with Dean and your father?" Sam nodded, and Mark continued. "He'll be pissed when he finds out I told you."

Sam shook his head. "He doesn't need to find out. I just…I want to know what happened to him when I was –" he paused, "away. Please, Mark?"

Mark hesitated for just a second before deciding to tell Sam. "We were hunting a rogue banshee in a town called Scituate, Massachusetts. They've got a huge Irish population and banshee sightings had become rather commonplace up there. The townspeople had just come to accept the presence of such supernatural beings. But the thing with this banshee was that instead of just announcing the impending death of town members, this banshee was going off script, causing the deaths of otherwise healthy people."

"How did you know they weren't supposed to die in the first place?"

"We thought about that," Mark mused, rubbing a hand over his facial scruff, as if that would help him remember. "But it was the _way_ they were dying. And then Dean did some research and found that that sort of thing had happened before. Several times, in fact."

"Dean _willingly_ did research?" Sam asked, amused.

Mark chuckled lightly. "Well I mean, John made him. But I think he secretly liked it. And he was damn good at it too. Anyway, Dean figured out how to find the banshee and how to get rid of it."

"So everything went well, then?"

"Everything with the case, yes. Dean's research was perfect and we finished the hunt without any complications. Your dad and brother were set to deal with some voodoo gig down in New Orleans after that, but then Caleb called and said he needed John's help on a case in Rochester."

"So did they go to Rochester, then?" Sam asked, vaguely remembering something Dean had said about doing a solo hunt in New Orleans. But that had been just a year ago, and Sam couldn't seem to make the dates match up.

Mark shook his head slowly. "John went by himself, said Dean could handle the voodoo case on his own. But I didn't like the idea of Dean hunting solo. He was only 22. Tough as nails, but still too young. So I told Dean I was going with him."

Sam smiled, finding himself liking Mark more and more. "I'm guessing Dean wasn't happy with that."

Mark shrugged. "I don't think it bothered him much, actually. He seemed to like the company. But we never made it out of Massachusetts." Mark sighed heavily, and Sam thought he seemed upset by the memories. "Dean…he had hurt his shoulder a few weeks before the banshee hunt – dislocated it and damaged a few of the surrounding ligaments. I didn't even know about the injury, and Dean never said anything to me or John. But apparently it still bothered him because he was popping aspirin like it was candy, not that either of us knew it."

Mark shook his head again and waited a minute before continuing. "On the morning that Dean and I were going to head down to New Orleans, I took him to my favorite diner on the outskirts of Boston – Erin's Place. He seemed pale," Mark added quietly, as if he was talking only to himself and not Sam and somehow blaming himself for what happened. "But he cleared his plate, so I thought he was okay. I thought he was okay." Mark repeated, kneading his hands against his forehead. "He threw up in the parking lot. Bright red blood. A lot of it," Mark almost whispered. "And then he screamed out in pain and just collapsed."

"What – what was wrong?" Sam was gripped with fear. He knew it was unwarranted – clearly Dean had recovered. But for some reason he felt like he was right there with Mark and his big brother in the parking lot of some diner outside Boston.

"Bleeding ulcer, for one," Mark answered. "Combined with kidney failure," he answered quietly.

"The aspirin," Sam murmured.

Mark nodded. "He was in critical condition for more than a week. When I called John, he drove straight over from upstate New York. He made the drive in 6 hours, or something crazy like that. And then he didn't leave Dean's side until the doctors said Dean was going to be okay."

Sam shook his head, "I never knew."

Mark nodded. "I figured Dean didn't talk about it much. I think he scared himself, too. Scared the shit out of John," he added with a laugh. "You should have seen him when Dean was recovering. He was rightfully pissed, but he also felt guilty, I think, that he didn't realize his son was in pain. He just _hovered_ around the kid until he finally drove Dean nuts." Mark laughed again at the memory.

Sam laughed with Mark, finding it nearly impossible to picture John playing the role of nursemaid. That sort of fatherly concern was so far removed from anything Sam remembered that it made him miss the man fiercely, miss what could have been.

"He's going to be okay, Sam," Mark said confidently.

Sam nodded, but he still found it hard to think of anything except Dean lying pale against the sheets, lips flecked with blood. "I should call Bobby," Sam said quietly. "He'd want to know…he'd want to be here." He stood up, pulling out his cell phone and taking a step towards the lobby, but Mark stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. When Sam turned back, he saw a doctor approaching their seats.

"Sam Wilson?" he asked calmly, professionally, like he did this every day. "Why don't you have a seat?"

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><p><em>Sorry! One more chapter, guys, and then you'll know what's wrong with Dean. But does anyone have any guesses? I hope you liked this chapter – I wasn't sure about adding that whole story about Mark and Dean's last hunt in there. Let me know what you think, and stay tuned for the final chapter! <em>


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I can't apologize enough for how long this chapter has taken me to write. I could blame a number of things (school work, real work, sports, etc.) but the reality is, I easily could have found the time had I tried. I just really didn't know where I was going with the story, and I had said that this would be the final chapter. After making you guys wait for months, though, I decided I couldn't just easily wrap it up, so there will be at least another chapter, maybe two. And I promise to write them more quickly. Thank you for the continued reviews. Besides making me feel guilty, they've also motivated me to keep trying to finish this story. I hope you're still with me and still enjoying it. Thanks again for the support. Please let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions for me.**

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><p>Sam sat down slowly, his hand still fumbling with his cell phone, wishing he had already called Bobby, that the older hunter was here with him now, just in case…he shook his head, unwilling to let those thoughts creep into his mind. He realized then that the doctor was saying something and he forced himself to drown out the doubts in his mind.<p>

"…he's lost a lot of blood already…"

"Wait, so what happened? What's wrong with my brother?" Sam didn't let the doctor finish and he absently noted the look of annoyance on his face.

The doctor paused for a second, studying Sam before repeating everything he had just said.

"Your brother came in with a ruptured spleen, Mr. Wilson. Now, we were able to go in and remove the spleen, but he's lost a lot of blood."

"_Ruptured spleen?_" Sam asked in disbelief. Because yeah, Dean had taken a hard hit, but he never would have thought it was enough to cause such a bad injury. "But he said…" Sam trailed off, looking over at the doctor. "He didn't hit his side that hard. How could that rupture his spleen?"

"Normally, the spleen is protected by the rib cage and you're correct, it wouldn't usually rupture with a minor bump. But because of your brother's case of Mononucleosis, his spleen was abnormally large and thus not very well-protected. The hit to his left side was more than sufficient to cause such damage."

Sam looked sharply at the doctor and he could see Mark's equally surprised look out of the corner of his eye. "_Mono_?" Sam repeated. "Are you serious?"

It was the doctor's turn to look confused at that. "You didn't know? I would guess he's had it for at least three weeks."

Sam shook his head, trying to process the information. _Three weeks._ He pinched his fingers over his eyes, exhausted. "We thought he just had a cold, Doc," Mark spoke up, feeling the need to defend himself and Sam, even though the doctor wasn't really accusing them of anything.

The doctor nodded, accepting that as plausible. "Sometimes it can manifest with cold or flu-like symptoms. The one thing you really need to be careful of is the enlarged spleen which, unfortunately, was the issue here and the reason for the rupture."

"And you had to remove the spleen?" Mark asked. "What will that mean for Dean?"

"The spleen is important, but it isn't vital, and the body can cope quite well without it. The liver will primarily take over the functions of the spleen, but there are still some potential complications to be aware of. The risk of infection is higher, especially in the first two years post-op. But we'll discuss that more after Dean has had some time to recover. Right now our main concern is to watch out for any post-operative complications from the blood loss and aggressively monitor for signs of infection."

Sam nodded, anxious to see for himself how Dean was doing. Because hearing about the surgery and the potential life-threatening complications was not exactly comforting. "When can I see my brother, Doc?"

The doctor turned to glance at the clock on the wall, taking a moment before answering the question. "He's been in post-op for about thirty minutes now, and it should be another thirty or so before he's moved to a room for the night. Hang out here for awhile and I'll have a nurse come and get you as soon as he's settled."

Sam and Mark both thanked the doctor, then sat quietly for a few moments. "Should you kill him or should I?" Mark asked quietly.

Sam huffed out a laugh. "Mono," he repeated, as if still not believing it. "Why am I not surprised?"

Mark shook his head. "At least it's not another bleeding ulcer. I would have kicked his ass if he did that again."

Sam nodded in agreement. "But he's still gonna hear it from me," he added, trailing off. "Three _weeks_." Sam looked down at the phone in his hand, thumbing through the contacts. "I'm going to go let Bobby know," he told Mark, getting up.

Mark stood up with him. "Give him my best. I'm going to go get us some coffee."

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><p>Bobby hadn't seemed too surprised when Sam had told him what happened, and Sam figured that spoke volumes about their lives – that something as serious as hypovolemic shock brought on by a ruptured spleen could be considered mundane.<p>

"How long is he going to be admitted for?"

"The doctor didn't say. A few days, barring complications I guess. And from the sound of it, he won't be in the clear health-wise for awhile. High risk of infection and what-not now that he doesn't have a spleen."

"Bring him here, Sam. At least for a few weeks. With all those dumps you stay in, he's bound to catch something."

Sam started to protest, not wanting to impose on the older hunter, but Bobby cut him off immediately, insisting. And Sam figured Bobby did have a point – the roach motels they tended to stay at would almost inevitably worsen Dean's condition. And that was the last thing Sam wanted. Plus, then he'd have an adversary if Dean protested the extended recuperation time.

"Okay, yeah Bobby thanks. That sounds great. I'll let you know when we get out of here. I still have to finish up this case, actually."

Bobby raised his eyebrows at that. "Not alone, I hope," he said, concerned.

"No, actually Mark Ruttledge is here. He says hi, by the way."

"Okay, good. He's a good guy, he'll look out for you two. But be careful, anyway. I don't want you ending up in the hospital with your brother."

Sam promised to be careful, then said goodbye to Bobby and returned to the waiting room. Mark held out a cup of hot coffee for him and a few packets of sugar and some cream. "I didn't know how you took it."

Sam nodded his thanks. "Black is fine," he said, taking a sip and puckering at the bitter taste, but drinking it anyway.

"What'd Bobby have to say?"

"He wants us to stay with him while Dean recovers."

Mark smirked. "Good luck with that."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I know, but I've got the upper hand here. Don't worry, I'll guilt him into it eventually."

Mark took a long sip of his coffee and leaned back slightly in the hard-backed chairs. "I know you will, Sam."

"We still need to finish the hunt," Sam reminded him. "Or at least make sure it's finished."

"I'll finish the ritual tomorrow, but I don't think there will be any problems. Emily and Bill are dead, and we have the wand. I have a simple incantation that should prevent anyone from summoning its power in the future."

"Yeah, okay sounds good. I'll help, then – tomorrow. Dean would kill me if you got hurt," he added, preemptively ending any rebuttal Mark might have had, and the older hunter reluctantly agreed.

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><p>The next thirty minutes seemed to take an infinity, and when there was still no update on when he could see his brother, Sam was ready to punch something - or someone. It was another twenty minutes before the nurse came out to find them, and Sam almost scared her away the second she stepped into the waiting room.<p>

"What took so long?" he demanded, but Mark cut him off before he could do anything stupid.

"Sorry, we're just worried," Mark said in his charming voice, and the nurse was almost immediately at ease. She led them to Dean's room, explaining what they should expect when they got there.

"He's pretty heavily sedated and should be out until morning. The doctor explained to you about the complications, I presume?" she asked, and when Mark answered in the affirmative, she continued. "Dean's on some pretty heavy antibiotics to prevent any serious infections, and those can sometimes wreak havoc on the body. If he complains of nausea when he awakes, make sure to let one of us know," she said sweetly, patting Mark on the hand. Sam just restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Barely.

"Here we are," she said, stopping in front of room 127. "Technically, you're only supposed to visit for 30 minutes..." she paused, and Mark gave her his best puppy dog face. Apparently Sam wasn't the only one who had mastered that. She looked up and down the halls, as if checking to see if anyone would catch them. "But I'm not going to tell anyone if you stay. There's one chair by Dean's bed and another by the other empty bed if you want to pull that one over."

Sam thanked her, hand on the door. "You're welcome. Let me know if I can do anything else for you boys," she added, winking at Mark. Sam did roll his eyes this time, but he was already halfway into Dean's room and fairly certain neither Mark nor the flirtatious nurse had seen.

Even though the lights in Dean's room were turned low, Sam could clearly see the sickly pallor on his brother's face. Dean lay completely still, various tubes and wires sticking out around his body. No respirator, though, and for that Sam was grateful. Mark closed the door to Dean's room, quietly moving the chair from the empty bedside so that it was situated next to Sam's chair.

Sam sank down into the other chair, dropping his head into his hands as he wearily exhaled. "What a long week," he mumbled quietly. Mark didn't respond, but Sam felt him place a large hand on Sam's back. "Long, fucking week."

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><p>It wasn't until several hours later that Dean began to stir. Mark was out of the room grabbing breakfast from the hospital cafeteria and Sam was dozing in the lumpy chair beside Dean's bed. Sam wasn't even sure he had heard the soft voice calling out to him, but when he looked over at his brother's bed, Dean's eyes were open and his right hand was hanging loosely over the bed, thumping the mattress lightly to get Sam's attention. He moved his lips again but this time Sam couldn't even hear the words he was trying to speak.<p>

Sam sat up quickly, pushing away from the chair and standing by his brother's bed. "Hey man, how are you feeling?" he asked anxiously, hand hovering near the red call button, ready to get the nurse if even the slightest thing seemed off with his brother. Dean closed his eyes and swallowed with difficulty.

"Wa...ater," he croaked. Sam nodded.

"Right, of course," he said, standing up and filling a small plastic cup with water. The nurse had come by earlier and let Sam and Mark know it would be alright for Dean to drink a little when he woke up. Sam handed the cup to his brother, helping Dean sit up a little and putting the straw to his lips. Sam kept a hand on the cup to make sure he didn't drop or spill it. After a few sips Dean pushed it back, closing his eyes again and letting his head sink against the pillow.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked when Dean didn't move for a few seconds.

Dean heard the worry in his brother's voice and forced himself to open his eyes. He nodded slightly but couldn't hide the wince when the stitches over his left side pulled at the movement. "My side," he mumbled softly. "Hurts." He put his hand over the still-tender wound, fingers lazily moving over the stitches. Sam reached out and stilled Dean's hand.

"Don't touch that, Dean," he scolded lightly.

Dean didn't answer but moved his hand to the side of the bed, away from the bandages. "What happened?" he asked after a minute. The last thing he remembered was overwhelming dizziness and a white-hot pain in his side.

"You ruptured your spleen, man. Doc said you'd lost a lot of blood by the time they got you into surgery. It was touch and go for awhile."

Dean absently moved his hand back to his side. "Di' they take my spleen?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah they couldn't repair it. You don't necessarily need it, but we're gonna have to be careful for awhile so you don't get any serious infections."

Dean cursed softly, knowing it was just going to add one more complication to their already-complicated lives. "Sorry," he whispered. "Didn't even think I got hit that hard."

"That's what I said too. You've had Mono, Dean. For three weeks. It caused your spleen to become enlarged, more susceptible to rupturing."

To Dean's credit, he seemed suitably surprised by that statement. "The kissing disease?"

Sam nodded. "Probably from one of your many one-night stands."

"Shaddup," Dean mumbled, closing his eyes again. "Didn't know," he added a minute later, knowing Sam was probably pissed he hadn't told him he was feeling sick.

Sam wanted to call him on that. Because even if he didn't know it was Mono, there was no way he hadn't felt sick these last few weeks. "Get some rest," he said instead, knowing such an argument would be unfair. He watched as Dean drifted back to sleep, then settled back against his own chair and waited for Mark to return.

By the time mid-afternoon had rolled around, Dean was able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time and was insistent that Mark and Sam finish up the banishing spell. Sam was hesitant – Dean's color hadn't improved much and he still seemed far too weak, but it was soon clear that arguing with his brother would be futile. So he and Mark set out to finish the spell with the unspoken agreement that they would do it and return as quickly as possible.

When they reached the car, Mark pulled out the wand from a protective box hidden in the glove compartment. Even though he believed this ordeal was over, he still wasn't taking any chances on the wand getting into the wrong hands again.

"Has the town been quiet?" Sam asked, eyeing the wand distastefully. Mark had headed out for a few hours to make sure everything was okay in the town.

Mark nodded. "They found Bill's and Emily's bodies this morning. From what I heard the sheriff's department has no viable leads, but I'm pretty sure nothing can tie us to the scene. Rich is fine, though, and there haven't been any weird occurrences since last night. I checked out the library too. Everything looks normal with no signs of what went on last night. Oh and I made sure the hidden room in the basement was still…hidden."

Sam nodded his head in approval. "So where are we going to perform the ritual?"

"At the burial site, where we moved all the bodies last night. Then we burn the wand on hallowed ground, and that should render the wand powerless to anyone who possesses it."

"Good," Sam said simply, looking out the window. He wanted to get this ritual finished as soon as possible. He knew the doctor had said Dean's prognosis was relatively good, but his brother's pale skin and overall appearance were not doing a good job of convincing Sam that that was the case.

Rain was starting to fall as Mark pulled up to the burial grounds. Though it made their job a bit messier, at least it meant there were no townspeople out and about to witness the ritual. "We should probably hurry up," Mark said, grabbing a few bags from the trunk. "If it starts to rain any harder we may have trouble burning the wand."

Sam didn't need to be told twice and he grabbed the rest of the bags from the trunk, following quickly behind Mark, who stopped in the center of the field. "Does it matter where we perform the ritual?" Sam asked.

Mark shook his head. "The entire burial ground is hallowed. We're fine right here." He knelt down and pulled out the wand along with the spell he had translated from the Esopus language. Sam pulled out a pouch from his own bag, sprinkling the contents in a small circle like Mark had instructed earlier.

"What is this again?" he asked, holding a pinch of the dust between his fingers to examine it.

"Bone dust from the bodies disturbed by the digging." Mark said without looking up, and Sam quickly wiped his hands on his pants, shuddering involuntarily as a chill ran through his body. Mark placed the wand in the center of the circle and began to recite the cleansing ritual.

The wind picked up slightly as Mark finished the recitation, but Sam couldn't tell if that was just from Mother Nature or if it was the spirits of the Esopus that had been disturbed. Either way, it caused the matches that Sam lit to flicker and burn out almost immediately.

Sam felt an icy chill again and looked around, certain he hadn't imagined it this time. He thought he caught a glimpse of something shimmery behind the trees, but it was gone so quickly he couldn't tell who – or what – it had been.

"Mark," Sam started, turning towards the older hunter and seeing his own concern reflected in Mark's eyes. But before he had the chance to say anything else, the wind kicked up another notch, blowing bone dust into his eyes, and Sam stumbled, momentarily blinded. He thought he heard Mark shout out to him, but his voice was muted out by the cacophony of the wind. Sam felt the icy tendrils of a ghost on his arm – he was sure of that now – and the next thing he knew was falling, unable to regain his balance. The last thing he heard was Mark shouting his name and he knew with absolute certainty that this was far from over. And then everything went dark.

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><p><em>I've looked at this chapter so many times that any attempts to edit were kind of futile. Sorry for the mistakes, and again<em>,_ apologies for the wait. Thanks for reading! My next update will be much quicker._


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm incredibly sorry for the wait. I started grad school in June (2013) and haven't really had any time to write since then. Thank you for your reviews - they made me revisit this story. And thank you to everyone who continued to read and review this. I didn't intend for you to have to wait so long for a conclusion.**

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><p>Dean knew there was something wrong. He had been unable to get warm ever since waking up in the hospital, but even so the sudden drop in temperature was especially noticeable. Dean shivered hard, eyes scanning the room, desperately trying to find the cause of the disturbance. He looked towards his clothes on the side table, just out of reach. He needed his cell phone. He needed to warn Sam.<p>

Steeling himself against the pain he knew the movement would cause, Dean gingerly sat up, hand hovering uselessly over the stitches in his side. The change in position made him dizzy and he closed his eyes tightly for a minute until he was certain the room had stopped moving. "C'mon Dean," he mumbled angrily, inching his way towards the edge of the bed, fingers stretched out towards the side table, desperately trying to grasp the clothes. Just one more inch...

Dean's fingers closed around the piece of fabric and he released a deep breath, sucking in as much air as he could on the inhale. He bit his lip as he carefully pulled the clothing towards him, praying the cell phone wouldn't fall out in the process. When he could reach into the pocket, Dean wrapped his fingers around the cell phone. He dropped the pants onto the floor and scooted back towards the pillows.

Dean's hands were shaking as he attempted to dial Sam's number. The effort of retrieving the cell phone had exhausted him and he could hardly hold his hands still long enough. Making matters worse was the fact that all the numbers seemed to blur together. He closed one eye and began to dial, finding that easier than scanning through his contacts. Dean finished entering the digits and pressed send. He heard the ringing and closed his eyes, waiting for his brother's voice to answer.

"Dean?" Mark answered instead, and something about his voice was off.

"Sam?" Dean asked his friend, knowing somehow that something was wrong with Sam. But he didn't hear Mark's answer. Pain, white hot and all-encompassing, spread throughout his body, starting at his bandage-swathed side, where the surgeons had cut him open to remove his spleen. "Ahh!" he cried out, dropping the phone. A flickering figure stood at the side of Dean's bed, her hand disappearing through the white bandages. She turned her head to look at Dean, and her face reflected pure evil.

"Emily," he whispered, recognizing the apparition as the girl they had just watched die. The girl whose body was currently sitting in the morgue. Mark had said they couldn't get to the bodies to burn them but that the banishing spell would be enough. Clearly something went wrong.

Dean cried out again as Emily's hand reached deeper into his side. He felt as if his insides were on fire, and he was shocked by the lack of blood around the bandages. Even so, the world started to gray around the edges and he could feel the shaky warnings of shock setting in. And if he passed out, that was it. Mark and Sam couldn't make it here in time to save him.

Mustering the strength for one final act, Dean reached behind his pillow and pulled out the salt shaker he had snagged from the food cart as a precaution. "Die, bitch," he grunted, spraying salt across the apparition. Emily's cold eyes met him one final time before she flickered and disappeared. Dean fell back against the pillows, completely drained. She'd be back, he knew, and if he didn't call Mark again and let him know what had happened, he had no chance of surviving a second attack. But unconsciousness was welcoming him and there was no fending it off now. The last sound he heard was the shrill beeping of the hospital monitors, warning him that his life was slowly fading away.

* * *

><p>"Dean!" Mark shouted a second time, feeling helpless as the sounds of a struggle and Dean's own pained scream echoed through the phone line. He heard Dean's hospital monitors screeching and then the phone went dead. "Dammit!" he screamed, prepared to hurl Sam's phone into the ground in frustration.<p>

Sam started to stir then, and Mark returned all his attention to the younger Winchester. "Mark?" Sam asked, reaching up to put a hand to his head. "What happened?" he felt a trail of blood dripping down the side of his face and he lightly pressed against where it was originating, wincing at the sharp sting.

"Don't touch that, I think you may need stitches," Mark said gently, moving Sam's hand away from the cut. "It was Bill's ghost," he said in response to Sam's question.

"What?" Sam asked, immediately sitting up. He closed his eyes tightly as the world spun.

"You hit your head on a rock, split it open pretty good."

"Bill?" Sam repeated, slowly catching up and attempting to stand.

Mark put a hand on Sam's back. He wanted to tell the kid to slow down and take his time, but he couldn't get Dean's phone call out of his head. Instead, he nodded. "I don't think he was trying to hurt you, though. I think he was warning us. He just happened to knock you down in the process." Sam turned and looked at him questioningly. "We need to get to the hospital, Sam. I think Dean's in trouble."

That was all Sam needed to hear. Ignoring the dizziness, Sam pushed to his feet. "Emily?" he asked already helping Mark gather the rest of the supplies.

"Yeah," Mark said, obviously pissed at himself. "I should've burned the bodies. I thought the banishing spell was enough."

Sam stopped putting away the supplies to look at Mark. They didn't have time for Mark to feel guilty. "That doesn't matter right now, Mark. We need to get to Dean. Then we can worry about all this."

Mark agreed, quickly gathering the rest of the supplies. They hurried back to the car and Mark sped to the hospital.

Dean was in surgery when they got there, and the only thing the doctors could tell them was that there had been complications. Sam had wanted to argue for more information, but the dizziness and pain from the head wound were too overwhelming and he ended up fainting instead. He came-to in an examination room, a doctor carefully stitching the gash on his forehead.

It took Sam a few seconds to remember where he was and why, but once he did, he immediately tried to sit up, already asking where his brother was. "Whoa, hold up," the doctor - Dr Martinez, as his badge read - pressed a strong hand against Sam's shoulder, forcing him to stay down. Sam didn't have much of a choice and he closed his eyes as the room spun around him.

"Dizzy?" the doctor asked, and Sam just groaned in response. "You have a mild concussion, Mr. Wilson. You need to take it easy for now. Your brother is still in surgery. He lost quite a bit of blood but I think they caught it in time."

"What happened?" Sam asked, struggling a little to sit up again. Instead of holding him down, the doctor nodded for one of the nurses to raise the head of Sam's bed.

"The internal stitches from his surgery opened and he started to bleed out again."

"How could that happen?" Sam asked, knowing all the while that it somehow involved Emily's ghost.

Doctor Martinez shook his head. "We won't know anything more until he's out of surgery. Now, Mr. Wilson -"

"Sam," the younger Winchester corrected.

"_Sam_," Dr. Martinez repeated impatiently. "You really need to let me finish stitching up your head."

Sam relented, knowing he wasn't going to find out anything about Dean unless he cooperated. "Mark -" Sam started. "My uncle. Where is he?"

"The guy that brought you in? He found out about your brother and then said he had somewhere to be. He left a note for you," the doctor said, pointing to the side table where a piece of paper sat. Sam reached for it but Martinez stopped him. "One more stitch," he promised, finishing the stitch and tying it off. He placed a bandage on Sam's head and removed his gloves, reaching for the note. "Here," he said, handing Sam the slip of paper. "He also wanted me to give you this." Martinez pulled a long metallic bar from his lab coat. "He wouldn't tell me why, but he insisted." Sam took the bar from the doctor, recognizing the material immediately. _Iron_. "You should try and get some rest for now. You look like you haven't slept in a week. I'll send a nurse to find you when your brother is out of surgery."

Sam agreed offhandedly, distracted by the letter. "Thank you," he called after him, not looking up from the note. It was short and to the point. Mark had gone to burn the bodies and finish the ritual and he instructed Sam to stay at the hospital with Dean, to make sure neither of them experienced any further "complications" from the ghosts. Sam hadn't planned to leave his brother and at this point he wasn't even sure he could _physically_ leave. But he was still annoyed that Mark had deserted him and he couldn't help but feel nervous that something else would go wrong. Still, he knew the bodies needed to be burned as soon as possible.

Ignoring the sign that clearly said no cell phones, Sam pulled out his phone and dialed Mark's number. After five rings, the call went to voicemail. Sam gripped his phone tightly, ending the call. Leaving a message wasn't going to change anything. He pushed up from the bed, intent on finding a nurse to take him to his brother, but fell back almost immediately, his vision spinning and his head pounding. Maybe rest wasn't such a bad idea. Sam leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes. _Just for a minute_, he promised himself, before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Mark sat outside the morgue, watching as the coroner locked up the building and headed to his car. The New Paltz morgue was small and, likely due to the lack of manpower on the police staff, wasn't staffed around the clock. Still, Mark knew he had to be careful. The sheriff already didn't like them and with all the deaths and suspicious activity going on, he was sure to be on careful patrol around the town.<p>

A sharp rap on his window made him jump, but he quickly opened the door when he saw who had knocked. "Thanks for coming, Holgrum," he said appreciatively, taking in the older man's appearance. He looked ragged and weary, no doubt drained from their previous night's adventures.

Mark instantly regretted his decision to allow Holgrum to help him out with the salt and burn. It hadn't been Mark's idea - Holgrum had called him asking for an update. When Mark had explained the snag in their plan, he'd insisted on helping. To be fair, Holgrum's life was just as endangered by Emily's ghost as the hunters' - maybe even more so. And it was partially his fault this whole mess had started.

Holgrum nodded, looking around nervously. "How are the boys?" he asked, only knowing vaguely about the complications that had led them to this point.

"On the mend," Mark told him noncommittally. Truth was, he had no idea how they were doing, but he didn't want to share that with Holgrum. "But out of commission," he added in explanation for their absence. Holgrum seemed genuinely concerned and Mark felt a tinge of guilt for his half-truth, but decided to return focus to the task at hand. "So you haven't had any more weird experiences since we last saw you, right? No strange cold spots? No objects moving around?"

"No, nothing like that. It's been so quiet, I assumed you had taken care of everything."

Mark shook his head. "Almost. We need to burn the bodies, though. Emily's and Bill's ghosts are still around, and Emily is at least bent on revenge. As long as she's around, none of us are safe."

Holgrum didn't seem phased by the information. Mark had given him a brief rundown on the phone, but he was still surprised at Holgrum's easy acceptance of the bizarre. He guessed with everything that occurred, the dean was no longer skeptical of the supernatural. "So what do we do?"

"The bodies should still be inside. We're going to need to take them out of the morgue and salt and burn them at the burial grounds."

"Why the burial grounds?" Holgrum asked, shivering slightly at the thought of transporting the body of his one-time friend.

"Honestly, I'm not sure it matters, but I want to be safe. Sam and I performed a cleansing ritual there earlier, and since Bill and Emily both had connections with the Esopus, I think it's best we burn them on the land."

"Alright," Holgrum agreed, still reluctant. "I think we should wait a little longer, though. People may see us."

Mark nodded, knowing Holgrum was right. But dammit, he wanted to finish this now. He had been reluctant to leave Sam, but knew the kid would be able to take care of himself if Emily's ghost came back. Until they burned the bodies, everyone was still at risk. And with Dean in surgery, it could turn into a very dangerous situation. "Okay, then let's gather everything we need and work out a plan. We need this to go off without a hitch."

* * *

><p>Sam stirred awake, putting a hand to his pounding head. He took a second to get his bearings before remembering where he was and why. "Dean," he whispered, sitting up, only taking a second to let the dizziness recede before standing up and heading to the nurse's station. The nurse they'd met earlier, the one Mark had been flirting with, recognized him and smiled widely.<p>

"Where's your uncle?" she asked sweetly.

Sam smiled tightly, holding his tongue against the retort he wanted to add. If he wanted information on his brother, he had to be on her good side. "Finishing up a job. He should be here a little later," Sam said instead. "Do you know if my brother is out of surgery? My uncle wanted me to give him an update." Sam added the last part in as an afterthought, hoping that would entice her to help.

Sure enough, she immediately searched the computer for the information. "He's resting," she answered sweetly. "The surgery went well, but he'll be in recovery for another hour or so. I'll let you know when you can see him."

"So he's okay?" Sam asked.

She nodded. "He should be. The doctor will come to talk to you later, though, and give you more information."

Sam nodded. "Thank you so much - Alice," he added, reading her name tag.

She smiled again. "You're welcome. Tell your uncle I said hello."

Sam agreed before heading back to the waiting room. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and stepped outside to try Mark again.

To Sam's surprise, Mark answered on the second ring. "Sam? How are you doing? How's Dean?"

Sam felt his lips quirk up at Mark's obvious concern for the brothers. He really liked the man, and he was glad he'd gotten to meet him. "Surgery went well. I don't have any more details at the moment. Dean is in recovery for now, but at least he's still alive."

"That's great," Mark said, relieved. "We're going to finish up here soon."

"We?" Sam asked, confused. "You're with someone?"

"Holgrum's helping me," he answered, making eye contact with the older man as he said it. "Don't worry, we're taking every necessary precaution."

Sam didn't like the thought of Mark's only backup being the shady dean. In the end, Holgrum had ended up helping them out, but he was still one of the reasons the whole mess had started. "Are you sure? I can come down there and help. I can't go in and see Dean for another hour anyway."

"No, Sam stay there. Until the bodies are burned, you and Dean are still in danger. If you can, keep an eye on your brother. If Emily gets to him again, he's probably too weak to withstand another attack. Did you get the iron bar I left for you?"

Sam shuddered involuntarily at the thought, mentally kicking himself. He hadn't even considered the possibility that she would come back now while Dean was unconscious. "Yeah, I got it. Thank you, Mark. And be careful. Call me as soon as you're done."

"I will. Take care of Dean. I'll see you soon, kid."

Sam hung up, heading back inside. He went back to the nurse's desk and found Alice. "You talk to your uncle?" she said brightly.

Sam nodded, "Yep. He says 'hi,' and that he's really grateful to you for helping us out." Alice smiled widely and Sam paused for a second, waiting to make his request. "Listen, I know my brother is in recovery, but is there any way I could sit with him?" He saw the reluctance on her face and quickly continued. "It's just, I almost lost him twice in the last few days and I...I would just feel a lot better if I could see him. If I could see for myself that he's okay." Sam threw in his puppy dog eyes, hoping they would work just as well on Alice as they did on his brother.

Alice looked around, checking to see if there was anyone who could get her in trouble. She lowered her voice, but Sam knew before she even spoke that she was going to give in. Alice led Sam to his brother. "If anyone finds you in here, don't tell them I said it was okay."

Sam promised her that he'd keep it a secret and walked to his brother's side. If possible, Dean looked even worse than before. But he was alive and he was breathing, and for that Sam was grateful. There were no chairs around, but Sam didn't need any. He pulled out a small cannister of salt and stood watch, just daring the bitch to try something.

* * *

><p>Mark checked his supplies for what felt like the thousandth time, making sure they had everything they needed. It was nearing 10 PM and he was ready to get the show on the road. "You ready?" he asked Holgrum. The older man had been incredibly quiet since they'd started the preparations, and Mark guessed the reality of what they were going to do was just setting in.<p>

Holgrum nodded reluctantly. "As I'll ever be," he mumbled.

Mark led the way, circling the morgue to find the back door. He skillfully picked the lock, looking around once more to make sure they were alone before pushing open the door. The building was small and it was obvious the town was unprepared for the number of deaths that had plagued it in the last few months.

They silently walked down the hallway, easily finding the room that housed the bodies. Mark took out his pick, expecting the door to be locked, but instead it easily turned in his hands. _So much for security_, he thought wryly. There hadn't been any security cameras, either, and Mark was both surprised and grateful. He stepped inside, then beckoned Holgrum to follow.

"Won't the ghosts stop you from taking the bodies?" Holgrum questioned, looking around nervously, as if he expected to see apparitions hidden in the corners of the room.

Mark nodded. "Probably. But we have ways to ward them off. Take this," he said, handing Holgrum a salt shaker. "Salt repels spirits. If you see Emily or Bill or any other spirits, just throw some salt at them. It won't kill them, but it should give us time to move."

Holgrum accepted the shaker. "Are we going to transport them one at a time?"

Mark looked around the small morgue. Ideally, they would only make one trip. But there was only one gurney, pushed into the corner of the room. "Looks like we'll have to make two trips. I would say you could go look for another gurney, but I really don't think it's a good idea to split up."

"No arguments here."

Mark nodded. "Didn't think so. Let's get a move on, then." There were 6 drawers, stacked in two rows of three. The first two were empty, but on the third try, Mark pulled out the drawer containing Bill Watson. Mark heard Holgrum pull in a sharp breath, but he didn't look back. "You okay there, Holgrum?"

"Yea...yeah," he stuttered. "This is just so...surreal."

Mark nodded. "I'm going to need your help lifting him." They got Bill onto the gurney, keeping him covered with a sheet, and wheeled him down the hallways. Mark had pulled his car around to the back of the building, near the woods, hoping it would be less conspicuous. Still, he looked around anxiously as they hurried to the car. There would be no talking his way out of this one if the sheriff showed up.

They managed to get Bill's and Emily's bodies into Mark's car with little difficulty, and Mark let out a breath. Step one was complete. Now they just had to get the bodies to the burial grounds and salt and burn them with no one noticing. Piece of cake.

"Is it strange that Bill and Emily didn't try to stop us?" Holgrum asked when he was seated beside Mark in the car. "I mean, their ghosts?"

Mark nodded contemplatively. He'd been so grateful they hadn't run into complications that he hadn't even stopped to think about it. But now he could've kicked himself. The only reason the ghosts wouldn't have appeared was if they were occupied somewhere else. He took out his cell phone and dialed Sam's number, waiting as his phone continued to ring. "Dammit," he muttered under his breath. He snapped his phone shut, shoving it into his pocket. "We need to finish this. _Now_."

* * *

><p>Sam's legs began to cramp after almost an hour of standing stock-still, just watching his brother breathe. There had been no signs of ghosts, no sudden temperature drops. He was starting to feel his eyes droop closed, but he snapped them back open. If Emily or Bill showed up, things could turn really bad really quickly. He fidgeted with his phone, shifting back and forth on his legs, trying to get the blood flowing. He ached for Mark to call, to let them know that the job was done, that this nightmare was finally over, that he could rest.<p>

Sam had his eyes fixed on the clock on the wall when he caught movement in his periphery. He immediately looked back at his brother, surprised when he saw Dean's fingers twitch. He waited, not sure whether or not his exhausted eyes were playing tricks on him. But then Dean shifted his head to the side, moaning quietly, and Sam was at his side in an instant.

"Dean? Can you hear me?"

Dean didn't respond and Sam fell back on his heels, disappointed. He knew Dean needed to rest, but he desperately wanted to talk to his brother, to make sure he was okay.

"S..Sam?" Dean had his head angled towards Sam, his eyes half-mast and pain evident on his face.

"Dean! Hey man, how are you feeling?" Sam approached his brother's side, ready to get him anything he needed.

"Like I got," he croaked out, pausing to clear his throat, which was sandpaper dry. "Like I got filleted by a crazy bitch." He winced, putting his hand to his side where a new swathe of bandages covered the surgically-repaired wound. "I could feel her fishing around in there, Sammy," he whispered, shuddering. He coughed again and Sam handed him a cup, raising the head of his bed slightly. He frowned when he saw the cup contained ice chips and not water.

"Sorry man, no water yet. You just got out of surgery."

Dean rolled his eyes, but still tipped some ice chips into his mouth, his hand shaking slightly. He reached to put the cup on the side table, cursing when the movement pulled at his stitches.

"Take it easy, Dean," Sam admonished lightly, grabbing the cup from his brother and gently pushing him back against the bed. Dean had his eyes squeezed tightly closed. "What's the damage?" he asked. All he knew was that he felt like shit.

"Internal stitches opened up and you started bleeding internally again. Doctors can't figure out why. You lost a lot of blood, but you should be okay eventually."

Dean could hear the weariness in his brother's voice, and he opened up his eyes to study Sam, only now noticing the bandage that covered Sam's head and the way he looked utterly exhausted and _done_. And then he remembered the phone call and that dreadful feeling that Sam had been hurt.

"Did she do that?"" he asked angrily, attempting to push himself up farther, to get a look at his brother. "Are you okay? I'm gonna kill her," he muttered.

"Dean! Stop, calm down, I'm fine. I think the stitches were overkill anyway. Doctor's just covering his ass. Besides, it wasn't Emily."

Dean still looked angry, but he seemed appeased slightly. "Bill?"

Sam nodded. "I think he was warning us." A flicker of understanding crossed Dean's face. "About Emily. How'd you stop her, anyway? Last time I saw you, you could barely hold your head up."

"Salt shaker. I uh, stole it from the lunch tray. Just in case."

Sam silently thanked his brother's smart thinking, but cursed himself that it had gotten so close. They had let up their guard and Dean had almost paid the ultimate price.

"Don't beat yourself up, Sammy," Dean said gently, and Sam marveled at his brother's ability to read him so well. "Where's Mark?" he asked after a beat.

That brought Sam's attention back to the current pressing matter. "He ditched me," Sam admitted reluctantly, knowing Dean would be unhappy. "He left me this." Sam pulled out the note Mark had scribbled, handing it to Dean. He watched as Dean scanned the letter, a frown appearing on his face. "He and Holgrum are burning the bodies. He said he'd call when they're done. I don't know man, it's been too long. I'm starting to get worried." He could tell from Dean's expression that his brother was worried too.

"Call him," Dean said firmly.

Sam nodded, pulling out his phone. "No service. Dammit."

"So go outside then."

Sam hesitated, unwilling to leave Dean. "I'm sure they're fine," he said unconvincingly. "I'll call in an hour or so." _When you're moved out of recovery_, he thought, choosing not to voice that aloud.

Dean looked like he wanted to protest but instead nodded tightly, fingers worrying at the edges of the white hospital sheet. "He better be," he mumbled.

* * *

><p>Mark had tried to call Sam three times, but each time it had gone straight to voicemail. He was having a hard time convincing himself that the boys were okay. But he kept his focus on the task at hand, knowing that at this point, getting rid of Emily's ghost was the best way to ensure Sam and Dean's safety.<p>

The field was still deserted, with no sign that anyone had discovered their earlier ritual. Mark pulled his car up to the edge of the field, killing the headlights. He turned to his passenger, noting the older man's fidgeting, nervous behavior. "It's almost over, Holgrum," he reassured him.

He and Holgrum were able to get the bodies out with only slight difficulty, the down-hill trek to the burial site making their work a little easier. "Grab the lighter fluid," Mark instructed, pulling out the incantation he had recited earlier - the one he'd thought would be sufficient to end the curse. Holgrum poured the liquid on the bodies, and Mark began to read the spell.

It was a cold night, and the drop in temperature was almost imperceptible, but Mark's senses were already on high-alert. He sped up his reading, hoping to finish the incantation and burn the bodies before either Emily or Bill showed up.

He was two words away when he saw the flicker of a shape standing over the bodies, a glimmer of light in the darkness. He felt Holgrum trembling beside him, unsure what he should do.

"What do you think you're doing?" Emily's voice was low and eerie, resounding around them like an echo from the depths of hell.

Mark was unphased and continued to read the chant, shouting the last word triumphantly and turning towards the dean. "Light the bodies!" he shouted, seeing the older man frozen in place, eyes fixated on another figure that stood beside Emily. "Holgrum!" he shouted, hoping to break the trance. But the dean was transfixed by the sight of his dead friend, and didn't pay any attention to the warning. Emily was on him in an instant, flinging him across the field.

"Shit," Mark cursed, not only out of worry for his accomplice, but because he now had no lighter to finish the ritual.

He tried to scramble down the hill to reach the dean, but felt the icy tendrils of Emily's ghost holding him back. "You've been a real pain in my ass," she hissed, tightening her grasp on the hunter. "Well not anymore." She plunged her hand into his chest, squeezing tightly. He could feel his body weakening, the pain in his chest nearly unbearable. He was certain his heart was going to explode.

In his last moment of consciousness, Mark saw Bill's apparition beside Emily. The other ghost didn't say a word, but just like that the pain - and Emily - were gone. Mark fell back against the ground, the sudden release of pressure leaving him weak. Bill's image flickered once, before disappearing completely.

Mark stayed on the ground for a moment, catching his breath, trying not to think of how close he'd come to dying at the hands of Emily's ghost. "Holgrum?" he yelled, making his way over to the dean, picking up his pace when he saw Bill's ghost was now standing over the older man.

Holgrum stirred awake. "Bill?"

"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I didn't mean for this…" he trailed off. Holgrum nodded in understanding and forgiveness. "You need to hurry," Bill said, turning to Mark. Mark understood the implication. Emily might not be at the field anymore, but chances were she had gone after the other people involved in her death. The worry filled Mark with newfound strength and he crouched down to help up Holgrum.

"You okay?" he asked, relieved when the man nodded. "Good, let's burn the bodies then. And this will all be over."

Holgrum looked at his old friend one last time, then pulled out the lighter and hurried behind Mark towards the bodies.

* * *

><p>"Go call him, Sam," Dean insisted.<p>

Sam had been pacing around the recovery room, hoping to get even the slightest signal on his phone. He had a bad feeling about Mark and wanted some indication that the hunt had gone okay.

Sam turned back, studying his brother. Dean had been in and out of consciousness for the last 30 minutes, his body desperately needing to rest, but his stubbornness not allowing it. He looked terrible now, had taken to stringing together only short sentences to save his energy. Sam had lowered the head of his bed when it became obvious that Dean was feeling dizzy and nauseated from the blood loss.

"I'm not leaving you, Dean," Sam insisted, even though the phone burned in his hand and his fingers itched to dial Mark's number.

Dean pushed himself up on one elbow, wincing in pain and shutting his eyes tightly against the light-headed feeling. Sam took a step towards him, ready to force the issue of rest on his stubborn older brother. "Dean-" Sam was cut off abruptly by the sound of a metal cart crashing behind him. He spun around quickly, but his breath was stolen immediately by the feeling of an icy, vice-like grip on his chest. Emily's figure flickered in front of him, and he was brought back to his first hunt with his brother, when Candace Welch had nearly squeezed the life out of him. Dean had saved him back then and he knew without a doubt he'd do the same right now. Or die trying.

"Sam!" Dean could see his brother pushing himself out of bed, managing to stay standing because, even weak with massive blood loss and two surgeries in the last 24 hrs, it was in his nature to _save Sam_. And nothing else mattered.

"D...ean," the pressure on his chest was increasing and Sam could hardly breathe, let alone speak. Emily was saying something beside him, and though he couldn't make out the words, he felt chills down his spine at the tone. "Ahh!" he couldn't suppress the cry, not when the pain was so all-encompassing.

"Get off, him," Dean ordered. "You bitch." Sam knew that Dean didn't have salt - he could see the shaker still on the nightstand, some 40 feet away. And the iron rod had been flung to Sam's side when he fell, just out of reach.

But that didn't seem to stop Dean. Because sometimes you didn't need salt or iron to stop a spirit. Sometimes just pissing it off was enough to give you an opening - a chance to get away. _What were you thinking, shooting Casper in the face, you freak?_ Memories of Jericho flashed through Sam's mind. It hadn't been rock salt that had slowed down the Woman in White, just the persistence of his older brother. _Hey, saved your ass_.

A split second, to gain the upper hand, that was all Sam needed. He could hear Dean goading Emily, trying to draw her attention away from Sam. And then he felt it - the slightest decrease in pressure on his chest, the eyes half turned to look at the person causing the disturbance.

Sam took the opportunity that the distraction afforded, stretching out his long arms to reach for the iron bar. Suddenly, the pressure on his chest released completely, and he fell back, confused. He turned to look for his brother, fear stealing his breath when he saw Dean on his back, Emily crouching over him, ghostly hand hovering over Dean's side, which was started to become saturated with blood.

Sam scrambled to his feet, reaching his brother in an instant and swinging the metal bar through Emily's apparition, relishing the pained cry she let out as she disappeared. He crouched down by Dean's side, pressing a hand against the steadily-growing bloodstain. "Dean, come on, man, talk to me," he insisted, trying to get his brother's attention, to get some reassurance he was okay, that he was hanging in there.

"S...am," Dean choked out, his eyes not focused on Sam. He lifted his right arm to hit weakly at his brother, trying to get him to turn around. "Em," he whispered, unable to finish the thought. But Sam understood, and quickly turned, just as Emily was upon him again, her icy grip trying to finish what she had started.

Sam braced himself for the pain, but it never came. Instead, Emily's ghost went up in flames, emitting a blood-curdling scream that resonated throughout the hospital. _Mark_, Sam thought, marveling at the perfect timing. He watched until Emily had completely disappeared, needing to make sure that she wouldn't come back, that she was gone for good.

Dean's pained gasp brought Sam's attention back to his brother, who was struggling under the pressure Sam was applying to his wound. "Hang in there, bro," Sam murmured, frustrated that all the commotion hadn't drawn attention to Dean's room. "I need help in here!" he yelled as loudly as he could, feeling Dean flinch beneath his hand.

Sam was convinced he'd have to go find someone, but then a nurse responded to Sam's shouting. Once she saw the state of the room and Dean lying on the ground, Sam applying pressure to his bloody side, all hell broke loose. After that it was a blur of doctors and nurses, and Sam was shuffled out to the waiting room _again_, with no clue how is brother was doing. He slumped in a chair, leaning his aching head back against the wall. After a minute, he felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, not surprised to see Mark's name on the caller ID.

"Sam? You boys okay?" he sounded out of breath, his voice urgent.

Sam let out a breath, worried his voice would crack. "Dean's in surgery again," he answered. Mark cursed on the other end of the phone.

"I'll be there as soon as possible. He's going to be fine, Sam."

Sam nodded. "I know," he responded, knowing he didn't sound at all confident.

"Hang tight, son. I'll see you soon."

Sam closed the phone and shut his eyes, finally giving in to his body's urgent need to rest.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Dean didn't end up needing surgery again. The bleeding had been a result of his external stitches tearing. Even so, he had still lost more blood and that, compounded with everything else his body had been through over the last few days, made his condition touch-and-go for a while. Sam hadn't left his side, even though he'd gotten into some trouble with the hospital staff after the incident in the recovery room.<p>

"So how did Holgrum handle the whole body burning thing?" Dean asked. He was sitting up in bed, looking so much better than he had in awhile. He wasn't ready to leave the hospital yet, but Sam could finally look at him without thinking he would break.

"He fainted," Mark smirked. "I think it was all too much for him. I haven't seen him since we burned the bodies, but he did give me a trunkload of ancient books to give to you boys."

Dean smiled. "I bet that made you happy, Sammy."

Sam hit Dean's foot lightly. "Laugh it up, Dean. You'll be the one doing most of the research while you recover. Bobby assured me of that." Bobby had arrived in town a few days ago and had been helping Mark clean up the mess left from the hunt.

Dean groaned. "Shoot me now."

Mark laughed, enjoying the return of the lighthearted banter. "Alright boys," he said, standing up, "I'm gonna head out. Got a Werewolf up in the Catskills to take care of."

Sam stood up too, taking Mark's hand and clapping him on the back. "Thank you, Mark. For everything," he emphasized, hoping Mark understood that it was a thank you for the past too, for the times when Sam hadn't been there to watch out for Dean.

"Any time," he said sincerely. "Take care of yourselves. And call me if you need anything. I mean it." He strode to the bed, ruffling Dean's hair. "Good to see you, kid."

"You too, Mark." Dean's voice broke a little, reluctant to see the older hunter leave. "Be careful."

Mark nodded and turned, heading out of the room. Sam watched him leave, chuckling as he stopped to flirt with the nurses on the way out.

"So you ready to blow this joint?" Dean asked, but he didn't try to get out of bed, and there was no conviction in his tone. He knew he wasn't ready to leave yet.

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try, bro," Sam said lightly. Dean didn't answer, and Sam saw the distant look in his eyes, the one he'd seen for so long after their dad had died. "Are you okay, Dean?"

Dean didn't respond, because he truly didn't know the answer. Physically, he still felt terrible, but he felt _better_. Better than he had when Emily was practically tearing his insides out. Better than he had when he was throwing up blood in a rundown hotel. But every time he looked at Sam, he heard his dad's voice in the back of his mind. _He said that I had to save you...and that if I couldn't I...I'd have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy._

Up until now, Dean had thought that this burden had fallen solely on him. But now he had Bobby and Mark, who had made it abundantly clear that they would help. Hell, even Ellen, a woman he hardly knew, seemed to care for the brothers. And Dean didn't feel so alone anymore. For the first time in awhile, he thought maybe things _could_ be okay.

Dean looked up at his brother, seeing the concern in his face. "Yeah, Sammy," he said sincerely, "I think I am."

* * *

><p>Finished! Again, I can't apologize enough for the delay. I hope that you liked the conclusion. Thank you again for reading and reviewing. I appreciate it so much. I'd love to hear your thoughts.<p> 


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